Cargo
by tree979
Summary: An old friend of the team arrives with a job for them. Ilsa is initially less than impressed, but Ames may have found herself a new role model. Case fic. Epilogue now up. FINALLY COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target but I own a laptop and I'm not afraid to use it...**

**Author's note: Time for another case-fic and this one is set roughly sometime after Dead Head in season 2. Sorry no Chance/Ilsa shipping in this one as I'm holding off on that until I see where the show is taking their relationship, although there may be a little UST between them. In my mind Pen is played by Zoe Bell, stunt woman and sometime actress whose work most people will have seen even if they don't recognise the name. She was the nutter strapped to the front of the Dodge Charger in Death Proof and she broke her back during filming Kill Bill Vol 2 when she was doubling for Uma Thurman. According to Tarentino she didn't even notice until a month later. The woman is as badass as they come!**

* * *

"Has anyone seen Chance or Guerrero today?" Winston shouted to the office at large.

Ilsa Pucci poked her head out of her office to see what had got him so worked up and Ames appeared out of the kitchen, a bowl of unnaturally coloured cereal in her hand.

"Is there a problem Mr Winston?" Ilsa enquired.

"No," Winston sighed. "I suppose not. Chance was supposed to be going through our ammo inventory with me this morning but I haven't seen hide nor hair of him since last night. I guess it can wait."

"Have you checked upstairs yet?" Ames asked. "He's not always, you know, a morning person."

"First place I checked." Winston replied, trying not to snap at her as she was trying to be helpful. "I don't think he even slept here last night."

"Hey! Maybe he got lucky!" Ames grinned and poked her tongue out.

Winston looked to Ilsa, to see if she responded to Ames' remark. There had definitely been a weird vibe between her and Chance lately, but all he saw was a brief flicker in Ilsa's otherwise businesslike expression. Winston couldn't tell what Ilsa was reacting to, the crude nature of the suggestion, or the thought of Chance with an unknown woman.

"Mr Chance is as entitled to a private life as any of us are." Ilsa said rather stiffly. "I'm sure he'll turn up in good time. And as for Mr Guerrero, I prefer not to think about what he gets up to when he's on his own time. He does seem to pop up out of the woodwork when there's a case."

"Maybe I'll give Chance's cell another call." Winston said.

As he was dialling, the freight elevator doors opened and out sprawled Chance and a blonde woman, followed by Guerrero, who carefully stepped over them. Chance and the woman were laughing almost hysterically and even Guerrero seemed to be smiling as he hauled the strange woman to her feet.

"Get your lazy ass of the floor." Guerrero said to Chance, who seemed to be perfectly content to lay laughing on the floor. "A ride home is one thing, dude, but I'm so not carrying you upstairs, either of you."

The woman snapped to an approximation of attention and gave Guerrero a sarcastic little salute whilst Chance got unsteadily to his feet. Guerrero rolled his eyes but there was still a hint of a smile on his face.

Ames made no effort to disguise the fact that she was scrutinising Chance's companion. She wasn't really the type of woman she'd envisaged him spending the night with. Ames had pictured Chance with someone classy, elegant maybe; someone a bit more like Ilsa. The woman Guerrero had just dragged to her feet was nothing of the sort. She was blonde and tanned but naturally, as the result of working outdoors rather than from the effects of spray on tan and peroxide, and her shoulder length wavy hair was pulled back into a messy pony-tail. She wasn't dressed so much casually as haphazardly in ripped jeans, a stained grey tank top and a beat-up old biker jacket. A pair of decrepit pink flat heeled sandals held together with duct tape and string completed the look.

Ilsa didn't know what to make of the woman and had just opened her mouth to ask what on earth was going on when the strange woman caught sight of Winston.

"Winnie!" The new comer yelled with obvious delight and literally threw herself at him, forcing him to catch her in an awkward hug.

"Oh hell, I should have known!" Winston said sternly, despite the fact he was smiling at the odd woman as he set her back on her feet. "Penny Dreadful, when did you wash up?"

"Last night." She grinned at him.

"And more to the point, how much have you and Chance had to drink?" Winston added wafting a hand in front of his face. "Nobody light a match."

"Will someone please tell me who this woman is and what she is doing here?" Ilsa demanded.

"Ilsa this is Pen. She's an old friend." Chance said.

"Mr Chance, are you drunk at," Ilsa looked at her watch. "Ten o'clock in the morning?"

"No. Absolutely not." Chance replied, making some effort to control the laughter that Ilsa's indignant tone only seemed to aggravate. "Well, maybe a little."

Ilsa looked furious.

"Don't be mad Ilsa." Chance said leaning back heavily against the wall trying to reign in his laughter to one of his boyish smiles. "I've found us a job."

"I'm not willing to discuss anything with you until you sober up." Ilsa replied. "For god's sake Chance sort yourself out. Winston, maybe you could get…Pen was it?" The woman nodded happily. "…a cup of coffee and we can talk about things properly later. This is still a place of business and I have work to do."

Ilsa retreated to her office and shut the door behind her. As soon as she was gone Pen erupted with laughter.

"That's your new boss?" Pen shrieked with laughter.

"Partner actually. Not boss." Chance corrected.

"Has anyone told her that?"

"Repeatedly." Chance grimaced.

* * *

Half an hour later Pen, Chance and Guerrero were sitting around the kitchen table tucking in to a huge cooked breakfast as Winston attempted to sober them up with copious amounts of coffee. Guerrero didn't seem to be drunk but he wasn't one to pass up a free meal if one was on offer so Winston grudgingly cooked for him too.

"Who is she?" Ames asked Winston as he broke another half dozen eggs into a frying pan.

"Penny Dreadful? She's one of Guerrero's contacts." Winston explained. "She captains the kind of boat that doesn't make pit stops for little things like customs and the coast guard."

"Winnie, please!" Pen said as she got up and attempted to fling an arm around Winston's neck, undeterred by the difference in height. "We're like family and you know it!"

"Is it gonna do me any good to remind you not to call me Winnie?" Winston groaned.

"Nope." Pen grinned, giving Winston a sharp poke to the belly with one finger. "It suit's you."

"Why did he call you Penny Dreadful?" Ames asked, fascinated by the way Pen teased Winston and got away with it. "It sounds like a pirate name."

"Nah." Penny replied as she grabbed the toast that popped out of the rapidly overheating toaster. "My dad was the pirate. I'm more of a free spirit with a healthy disrespect for authority. More Han Solo than Jack Sparrow."

Pen ruffled Ames' hair roughly as if she were a small child despite the fact she was probably only five or six years older than Ames herself. Ames slapped her hand away, which only seemed to amuse the older woman.

"So what's with jail-bait here? Has she got skills or is she just window dressing?" Pen asked as she pulled herself up on to the worktop close enough to interfere with Winston's cooking.

"Hey!" Ames objected. "I'm a highly valuable member of the team! And FYI, I'm twenty-five so I'm not jail-bait!"

"Ames is kinda a trainee." Guerrero said. "She was a thief and a grifter that we picked up on a job. Now we seem to be stuck with her, she's trying to learn the ropes."

"Like I said, I'm a valuable member of the team." Ames said glaring at Guerrero with all the bravado she could muster.

"She comes in handy sometimes." Chance conceded, feeling a small pang of pity for Ames at Guerrero's assessment of her role.

"You guys would be lost without me and you know it." Ames said, putting more bread in the toaster.

"I can totally see that, jail-bait." Pen said with mock seriousness.

Ames knew she was still being made fun of but decided it was easier just to let it go. Her curiosity over Pen's nickname was still piqued and she hadn't got an answer.

"So what's the deal with the Penny Dreadful thing then?" She asked.

"Penny here earned that nickname when she castrated one of her father's crew after he got a bit over-friendly." Guerrero explained. "She was twelve at the time, I think."

Ames' eyes widened in surprise, although she wasn't sure if Guerrero was joking or not.

"I was not!" Pen laughed, throwing a convenient plate at Guerrero's head. He ducked and it hit the wall behind him and Ames was surprised to see that far from being angry, he was actually grinning at his assailant.

"Hey!" Winston objected, waving a spatula at Pen. "Quit using the dinnerware like frisbies!"

"It saves on the washing up." Guerrero smirked.

"Actually I was fourteen not twelve and I didn't castrate the guy I only ruptured one of his testicles." Pen explained to Ames.

"Yeah," Guerrero said, "but the damage was so bad they had to cut it off when he finally got to a hospital so what's the difference?"

"Okay." Chance said, pushing his plate away. "You guys have officially put me off my eggs."

"You couldn't have decided that before now?" Winston complained, indicating the half dozen fried eggs that were ready in the frying pan he was holding.

"No one was talking about ruptured testicles before now." Chance pointed out.

"Here, gimmee." Said Pen sliding down from the counter top and relieving Winston of the frying pan. "I'll eat a couple and I'm sure Guerrero will polish off the rest. Unless you want some, jail-bait?"

Ames sighed and rolled her eyes. The gesture made her seem every bit the sulky teenager that Pen had teased her for resembling.

"Sure why not? But my name is Ames, not jail-bait."

"Sure kiddo." Pen said dumping a couple of eggs on a plate and handing it to her. "Whatever you prefer."

Winston helped himself to a cup of coffee and joined them at the table.

"So, what brings you to San Francisco?" He asked.. "Have you really got a job for us?"

"Oh, have I got a job for you." Pen said between mouthfuls of egg. "It's right up your street although I can't guarantee the money will be great."

"That's not a huge issue for us anymore." Chance said.

"Speak for yourself." Muttered Guerrero.

"I kinda got stuck with a cargo and I need you to take care of it." Pen said cryptically.

At the mention of cargo Guerrero's eyes lit up.

"What is it?" He asked. "Is it guns?"

"Oh, god no!" Winston groaned. "Don't let it be guns. Not after the last time!"

"Chill Winston." Pen laughed. "It's not guns. It's a person. Someone who could use the kind of help you guys provide."

* * *

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target, but my husband once cut Michael Caine's hair. True story.**

**Author's note: I could lie and say I've been too busy to post this sooner but the truth is I'm just fighting the urge to hibernate. BTW Human Target now has two forums on FFnet in it's honour! So now there's no excuse not to talk with your fellow HT-ers! (Not sure if the HTers thing will catch on...hmmm.) There will soon be a Human Target Fan Collective facebook page too so don't forget to show your support for the show and 'like' it.**

**

* * *

**

"For the last few months I've been taking diving trips out round Catalina Island," Pen explained. "Just the usual tourist bullshit. Everyone of them convinced they're gonna find sunken treasure. It's easy money but man, it's dull! Anyway, I decided it was time for a change of pace after we had a group that included a guy who spent the entire day chucking his guts up over the side of the boat. At the end of the day all the passengers have paid up and gone ashore and we're about an hour out on our way back to the mainland when I hear this noise coming from bellow deck and sure enough it was the passenger from earlier pebble-dashing the galley. I don't know how he managed to get back on board but I was so not gonna waste time and fuel taking him back to Catalina, so I figure I'll just ditch him when we stop to refuel in LA."

"So this job you mentioned, it's to do with this stowaway?" Winston asked.

"Yeah." Pen nodded. "As soon as I found him he started begging me to hide him. He wouldn't tell me his name but he kept going on and on about how there were people trying to kill him and hiding out on the Indi was the only way he could get off the island without being seen."

"The Indi?" Ames asked.

"The Indigo Bell, my boat," Pen explained. "I was heading north anyway so I figured I'd drop in and see you guys and see if you could help him out. He wouldn't even leave the Indi when we stopped to refuel. I don't know what he's running from but he's definitely in deep shit. No one who gets that seasick would chose to hide out on a boat unless they really had to. I told him I knew some people that might be able to help but when we docked he was too scared to leave the Indi. I didn't really feel like dragging him kicking and screaming through the streets of San Francisco so he's still hiding out on the boat with Johno and Sam."

"Who…?" Ames began to ask.

"Pen's crew." Guerrero interrupted, anticipating her question.

"I'm a still a little hazy as to how all this led to you and Chance going on an all night drinking session." Winston said, wrinkling his brow in mock confusion.

"Aww, you're just jealous 'cause we didn't invite you along!" Pen gave Winston's arm a friendly punch and he winced.

"It was my fault, Winston." Chance owned up. "When Pen called last night I suggested we meet at a bar by the docks. I should have know things would deteriorate in to a bar crawl."

"Trust me dude," Guerrero said giving Chance a pointed look, "You wouldn't have wanted a call from either of them last night. I had stuff to do but when I switched my cell on this morning I had forty three missed calls and six voicemails, three of which involved singing."

Chance groaned and held his aching head in his hands. Pen laughed and thumped her hands on the table, making Chance flinch.

"So I take it you never actually got around to meeting this new client then?" Winston asked.

"No," Chance said, a bit shamefaced. "We got a bit distracted."

"I found them chasing seagulls around the dock with half a bottle of absinthe." Guerrero said smirking.

"Why?" Ames asked. She was having a bit of trouble imagining Chance behaving quite so childishly, even if he was drunk.

"Because," Pen grinned, "I told Chance that…"

"Pen!" Chance pleaded. "Can't you just leave out the details?"

"…if you fed a seagull absinthe it would fly backwards!"

"But that's ridiculous!" Ames protested as all eyes turned to Chance.

"I know," he mumbled as he leaned on the table and rested his forehead on his arms, "but it was a great excuse to chase seagulls."

Guerrero laughed. Ames could see that he already knew Chance was capable of behaving like a kid, which made sense as he'd known him far to long to be easily surprised by his behaviour, however odd. Winston looked surprised but not that shocked, and he too had a chuckle at Chance's expense. Ames decided that perhaps Winston expected Chance to act childishly around Pen. Perhaps stuff like this had happened before.

"Maybe we should go get this stowaway of yours, Pen." Winston said. "It seems to me, we won't know if we've got a case or not until we hear his story. Chance, you better go take a shower before you even think of taking this to Ilsa."

"Probably a good idea." Chance said sitting up. "I'm not going to be sober enough to drive for a while. Guerrero can go with Pen to pick up the client. I'm sure he'll be persuasive enough to make him leave the boat."

"It's probably safer for the gulls too, dude." Guerrero smirked, as he picked up his car keys. Pen got up and followed him out.

"See ya later." She called out over her shoulder.

Chance retrieved some painkillers from a cupboard and slunk upstairs to take his shower, leaving Winston and Ames to clean up the mess in the kitchen. Winston sighed and walked over to the sink. Ames got up and made a move towards the door but she wasn't quite fast enough.

"Hold it right there missy." Winston said in an authoritative tone that Ames hated, but couldn't help responding to. He tossed her a pair of washing up gloves, which she caught. "I'm not a maid. You can help me clean this mess up."

Ames pulled a face but reluctantly pulled on the gloves and pitched in. They worked in silence for a few minutes, cleaning the pans, loading the dishwasher and wiping down the surfaces.

"How long have Chance and Guerrero known Pen?" Ames asked.

"The three of them go way back." Winston replied. "Since before Chance was Chance."

"But you said she was Guerrero's contact, not Chance's."

Winston shrugged, "I first met Pen a few years ago when Guerrero called her in for a job so I guess I just think of her as one of his contacts. They probably all met around the same time. Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't, I suppose. It's just weird how relaxed they are with her around. I guess I thought that someone from the bad old days would make Chance feel weird. Edgy weird, not chasing seagulls weird."

"Chance tends to stay away from people from his old life but I think he has a bit of a soft spot for her. Pen wasn't ever exactly an active part of that scene," Winston explained. "Her father was someone Chance's old boss called on from time to time. Pen wasn't kidding when she said he was a pirate. As I understand it, when Chance's boss needed one of his men to disappear for a while he would sometimes send them to work for Pen's father. Chance worked on his ship a quite a few times, sometimes for months. They weren't exactly in business together but it was an arrangement that suited them both. Pen's father got free labour for a few months and Chance's boss kept his men out of sight whilst they got a little training in the shadier aspects of working at sea."

"Makes sense I guess." Ames said smiling. Mental images of Chance the pirate vied for space in her head with the idea of him chasing seagulls. "So did Pen live on her dad's ship?"

"She lived with her mother until she was a teenager. I got the impression that she was a bit of a handful, even then. I don't know the details, but at some point she was either kicked out by her mother or she walked out and she went to sea with her dad. Chance happened to be working on board at the time and he looked out for her."

"Didn't her dad do that?" Ames asked. "Watch out for her, I mean."

"I don't think so." Winston said. "From what I've heard, he wasn't exactly the doting father. Chance kept her out of trouble, to start with at least."

Ames mulled this over for a while. There was still one question she really wanted to ask.

"So Chance and Pen are they, you know, more than friends?"

"Do you want to answer that, Chance?" Winston said.

Ames spun round to see Chance standing in the doorway towel drying his hair. He was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans but his feet were bare. She was impressed that Winston had even known he was there, Chance hadn't made a sound.

"No Ames," Chance said smiling at her predictable curiosity. "Pen and I are just friends. We don't see each other that way."

"Not your type then?" Ames joked with a wink.

"Not everything is about sex." Chance shrugged.

"Yeah, but when you're at sea, not much in the way of female company…" Ames let the sentence unfinished and smiled suggestively.

"The last guy who saw Pen as a solution to loneliness at sea lost more than just a testicle." Chance replied. "She's a friend. Sleeping with her would just be…" he pulled a face and shuddered theatrically, "gross!"

Ames knew that he was poking fun at her. She folded her arms and gave him her best 'what-ever!' look. He copied her movements and exaggerated his imitation of her facial expression by frowning and jutting out his bottom lip. Ames could hear Winston sniggering behind her.

"Oh, grow up!" She snapped and stormed out of the kitchen with as much dignity as possible whilst still wearing bright yellow rubber gloves.

"I don't think you've quite sobered up just yet." Winston said smiling at Chance, who was still pulling faces. "I think it might be advisable for you to drink some more coffee before we tell Ilsa about the new case."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target but I did once go crowd surfing at a Wildhearts gig wearing a a tiny t-shirt, a mini skirt and 15 denier tights. True story.**

**Author's note: The Indigo Bell is a retired Severn Class lifeboat as used by the RNLI in the UK. There is a Severn Class in private hands that was converted to be used as a dive boat so it's not THAT big a stretch for Pen to own one. My knowledge of boats is EXTREMELY shaky so I'm relying on the interwebs for details and a very helpful walk-through someone filmed and posted on youtube.**

* * *

Pen dozed off in the passenger seat of the Eldo as Guerrero drove them to the small marina where the Indigo Bell was docked. He knew she relied on getting a bit of shut eye whenever the situation allowed it, as living and working at sea rarely gave her the opportunity to enjoy a solid night's sleep; he decided to let her make the most of her nap. He always enjoyed working with Pen, she was refreshingly straight talking and she had no reservations about getting her hands dirty in order to get a job done. You knew where you stood with Pen.

The Eldo jolted as one of its wheels hit a pothole and Pen's head went from lolling against the head rest to smack sharply against the glass of the window. Guerrero chuckled as Pen let forth an angry string of expletives and rubbed at her head where it had connected with the window. When she caught Guerrero smiling she thumped him in the chest, which only made him laugh again.

"Ya prick! Watch where you're driving!" She smiled as she spoke, her harsh words at odds with her good natured grin.

"Hungover?" Guerrero asked.

"Christ! Yeah." She grumbled.

"Well, think how bad Chance must be feeling right now. I'm guessing you cheated."

"No idea what you're talking about, mate." Pen said with an air of feigned innocence.

"Bullshit." Guerrero smiled. "Chance may have thought you were matching him drink for drink but if you were you'd be hospitalised or dead right now. You're a tough chic but your body mass relative to Chance's wouldn't allow you to process the amount he drank last night. So, were you ditching your drinks when he wasn't looking, or drinking single measures with loads of ice to his straight doubles?"

"A bit of both." Pen admitted, shading her aching eyes with her forearm. She was feeling too rough to put up much of an argument and it would have been pointless anyway, as it was Guerrero himself who had once taught her how to seem to be drinking more than she actually was. They both knew Chance was wise to the techniques, but it was part of the game they played whenever Pen was in town. The challenge was not to get caught out cheating. It seemed that Pen hadn't been able to fool him quite enough last night.

"You probably should have ditched a few more than you did." Guerrero said.

"No shit, Sherlock."

Guerrero sniggered as he took out his cell phone and called Chance.

"Hey dude…. No we're not there yet. I just thought you might like to know I've got a party bag stashed at the back of your refrigerator if you want to use it to take the edge off before you have to talk to Ilsa… Yeah it's the usual recipe. I had one ready 'cause I was supposed to be meeting with Yuri last night but I didn't need it… Dead guys aren't that thirsty so my liver had a lucky escape. Just hook yourself up and push it through. It should at least help you walk straight."

Guerrero hung up.

"Party bag?" Pen asked. "I didn't think you guys went in for recreational pharmaceuticals."

"We don't," Guerrero replied. "A party bag is the closest thing there is to a hangover cure. It's mostly saline with some B vitamins, some electrolytes, with a dash of acetylcysteine and tolfenamic acid."

"Sounds yummy," Pen said pulling a face.

"You hook in up intravenously, you fuckwit," Guerrero replied, with a smirk.

* * *

When they arrived at the marina Guerrero spotted the Indigo Bell straight away. The 55 foot former lifeboat stood out from all the recreational yachts, and it was a good few feet longer than the local fishing boats. He wasn't surprised to see that the Indi had had a new paint job since he last saw it. The garish orange of the British RNLI had been replaced with a subdued cornflower blue. There was a man with dirty blond hair in his late twenties carefully patching what looked suspiciously like bullet holes in the side of the wheelhouse. Guerrero recognised him as Johno, one of Pen's crew. She called out to him and he looked up from his work and waved back at them.

"How's our passenger?" Pen asked when they reached the boat.

"He's finally stopped puking," Johno replied. "He's out cold on one of the bunks."

"Where's Sam?" She asked.

"Gone to re-stock some supplies. You just missed him." Johno looked up at Guerrero and grinned. "Long time no see, bro. Maybe we'll get the chance to finish that card game."

"Are you sure you want to, dude?" Guerrero replied, raising an eyebrow. "As I recall you still owe me a hundred bucks."

"I'm good for it G and you know it."

Guerrero laughed. "You've no idea how many times I've heard that one!"

Guerrero followed Pen as she climbed onboard and took the steep steps down to what used to be a medical supply storage area at the back of the boat. It had been converted into a small, four birth sleeping area that even a man of Guerrero's stature would have found cramped. Sure enough, one of the bunks was occupied by a sleeping man and Pen grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. He was curled up facing the wall and as he turned his head towards them Guerrero swore softly.

"Wakey wakey," Pen said, slapping the man gently but repeatedly in an attempt to make him open his eyes. It had the opposite effect though as the man screwed up his eyes and tried to fend her off by putting his arms up to cover his face.

"We have a good news, bad news situation here, dude." Guerrero said softly.

"Yeah?" Pen asked, giving her passenger a final slap. "What's the good news."

"I know who your passenger is."

"What's the bad news?" She asked.

"I'm pretty sure he knows who I am too."

The man in question finally sat up and saw who Pen had been talking to and his formerly sleepy and unfocused look became one of wide-eyed terror as he recognised the man standing next to Pen.

"Not you!" He gasped. "Anyone but you!" He turned to Pen, "You said you'd help me then you hand me over to _him_? This can't be happening! No no no no no no!" The man's words deteriorated into mindless gibbering as he pushed himself as far back into the bunk, and away from Guerrero, as he could. Unfortunately this wasn't very far.

"He does seem remember you." Pen said mildly.

Guerrero gave Pen a sarcastic look and the man on the bunk seized the opportunity to lunge at him with a knife he'd been concealing beneath the jacket he'd used as a makeshift pillow. Guerrero caught the movement in his peripheral vision and knocked the blade from his hand before it got anywhere near his chest, which seemed to be the man's intended target.

"My bad," Pen said as she grabbed at the man's hair and smacked his head firmly against the metal wall behind him, knocking him unconscious. "I didn't think he was armed. He probably swiped that from the galley. Does this mean you guys aren't going to help him?"

Guerrero picked up the knife from the floor and handed it to her.

"Not my call, dude. It's up to Chance."

* * *

Fortunately Ilsa was still locked in her office when Guerrero and Pen arrived with the still unconscious potential client. Chance bounded down the stairs as they dragged him out of the lift and helped them to carry him through to the kitchen, one of the few rooms that had solid walls that would keep the man away from prying eyes until he regained consciousness.

"Problem?" Chance asked. He still looked tired but the shower and Guerrero's 'party bag' had obviously helped to sober him up and see off the worst of his hangover.

"Let's just say he's familiar with Guerrero's work," Pen said, as Guerrero handcuffed the man to a kitchen chair.

Chance raised his eyebrows and gave Guerrero a questioning look.

"The guy's name is Ed Colgrove." He explained. "I shot his brother about twelve years ago. The client was very specific about little brother witnessing the hit to send a message back to their father. I'm surprised he recognised me so easily."

Chance looked Colgrove and estimated his age to be around twenty-eight, maybe thirty at the outside. He certainly would have been a teenager when he saw his brother killed.

"You haven't changed all that much in twelve years," Chance said. "And a person tends to remember the face of the guy he witnessed killing his brother."

Guerrero shrugged and walked over to inspect the contents of the refrigerator.

"Man, you cannot be hungry already!" Pen said.

"My metabolism is always two steps ahead of me, dude." Guerrero said taking out a container marked 'Winston' and opening it to sniff its contents.

"Hey, you're back," Ames said as she breezed into the kitchen and squeezed in beside Guerrero to reach the fridge. She grabbed a can of soda and 'accidentally' brushed her breasts against Guerrero. Pen snorted with laughter as he ignored her in favour of Winston's lunch.

"Unless your tits are made of cheesecake, you're shit outta luck, Jailbait," Pen laughed.

Ames glared at Pen as she opened her soda.

"Is that the new client?" She asked, taking a closer look Colgrove. "He's kinda cute."

"I guess I'll have to wait until he wakes up before we decide whether we help him or not," Chance said. "He may not even want our help. He's not exactly Guerrero's number one fan."

"I betI know who is," Pen said, winking at Ames, who attempted to ignore her and continued studying Colgrove. She made an appreciative sound, as if to show that the man met up to her standards. She decided that he wasn't bad looking, in a Chris O'Donnel kind of way.

"Is he rich?" She asked. "I could definitely find him extremely attractive if he's rich."

"We'll be sure to ask him when he wakes up." Guerrero said between mouthfuls of Winston's lunch. Ames cringed as she realised that he wasn't as oblivious as Pen had implied and he had undoubtedly caught the comment about his number one fan.

"Seeing as you've gotten yourself all tidied up," Chance indicated Pen's change of tank top to an only slightly cleaner t-shirt, "and I can walk straight again, maybe it's time I formally introduced you to Ilsa Pucci."

Ames perked up considerably at the thought of Ilsa putting this obnoxious loud-mouthed woman in her place.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target but I managed to get a degree in English Literature without ever reading a single book by Charles Dickens. True story.**

**Author's note: There will be action and mayhem at some point, but sorry folks, it's not in this chapter!**

* * *

Chance broke the habit of a lifetime and knocked on Ilsa's office door and actually waited to be invited in. This alone was enough to raise Ilsa's suspicions and so she didn't so much as raise an eyebrow when Chance led Pen into the room by the hand as if he were presenting a debutante.

"Mrs Ilsa Pucci," Chance said in a formal tone, "May I present Ms Penelope Redfield."

Chance attempted a deep bow in Ilsa's direction but the effect was spoilt when Pen ripped her hand from his grasp and gave him a good smack round the head.

"You bastard!" She said, angry but laughing. "Don't you ever call me Penelope! For Christsake Chance, you got a death wish or something?"

"I often ask him that myself," Ilsa smiled. She couldn't help but be pleased that Chance's little joke at her expense had back fired on him.

Chance straighten up and he looked a little put out that Pen had just clobbered him.

"Fine," he shrugged. "Introduce yourselves. I'll be in upstairs."

As soon as Chance had left the room, Ilsa stood up and moved around the desk to extend her hand towards Pen. They shook hands and Ilsa wasn't entirely surprised to find Pen had a firm grip and shook hands vigorously but briefly.

"Please call me Pen," she said as she released Ilsa's slightly crushed hand.

"I understand that you don't like to be called Penelope," Ilsa said, "but might we compromise on Penny?"

Pen gave her a thoughtful look. She could see that Ilsa required a certain level of structure and formality to make her feel at ease and she could imagine how little of that she got working with Chance and Guerrero everyday. If calling her Penny rather than Pen helped her feel that things were being kept civilised, she could live with it.

"Sure, why not?" She replied, giving Ilsa a bright smile. "Only harbour masters and cops ever call me Penelope and I'm not too fond of either."

"I'm being to suspect that your nickname isn't just a play on words, Penny." Ilsa said, as they sat down facing each other over the desk. Pen smiled and gave a non-committal shrug.

"Do I detect an antipodean twang to your accent?" Ilsa asked. "You're from New Zealand, if I'm not mistaken."

"I'm impressed," Pen said, "Most people can't seem to hear the difference in the accent between Aussies and Kiwis."

"Well, I'm a bit more well travelled than most people," Ilsa replied. "I'd even hazard a guess that you're from the Aukland area."

"Waiheke Island actually." Pen grinned, obviously delighted by the fact that Ilsa was familiar with her corner of the world. "You ever been there?"

"Marshall, my late husband, was good friends with the owner of a vineyard on Waiheke. We frequently stayed there. It's a beautiful island."

"Not much in the way of jobs though," Pen sighed.

"Yes, I can imagine it would have been a bit stifling for someone with… an adventurous spirit."

Pen laughed, "That's half the reason I took to a life at sea!"

* * *

Ames watched the conversation going on between Pen and Ilsa and although she couldn't hear what was being said, it was obvious from all the smiling and laughing that the two women were getting on like a house on fire. She felt a little disappointed that there wasn't more in the way of fireworks, maybe a little shouting and Pen getting thrown out on her ass. Ames frowned. That obviously wasn't going to happen, and with the two of them getting on so well, plus Pen's history with the team, it seemed she would still be the new kid, the one member of the team that was always having to play catch up.

Just as Ames had started to work up some plutonium-strength self pity, her thoughts were scattered by an enormous crash from the kitchen followed by a lot of shouting.

"I guess that means the client is awake," she muttered to herself as she made a b-line for the kitchen.

When she reached the kitchen she saw her assumption was correct, Ed Colgrove had regained consciousness and had managed to knock over the chair he was handcuffed to. Most of the shouting was coming from Colgrove, although Winston and Guerrero were doing their part to add too the overall racket.

"He gonna kill me!" Colgrove shouted at the top of his lungs, franticly struggling against the handcuffs as he lay prone on the ground amid the remains of the broken kitchen chair. "Help me! I don't wanna die! Don't let him shoot me! Heeellllp! God! Will somebody help me? Heeellllppppp!"

Ames sighed, Colgrove had lost a lot of his charm now he was awake and begging for his life.

"Calm down!" Winston was trying to shout in a soothing way, his hands making calming gestures. "Nobody is going to shoot you!"

"He's gonna kill me!" Colgrove yelled hoarsely.

"It's okay!" Winston said. "I promise I won't let him shoot you! Guerrero, will you put that thing away? You're really not helping the situation here!"

Guerrero looked down at the gun in his hand before tucking it out of sight.

"Sorry dude, it's a reflex thing. Kinda forgot I was holding it for a second there."

Colgrove calmed down a bit when Guerrero put his gun away and stopped struggling for long enough to let Winston haul him to his feet.

"Considering your professional history with the guy, maybe you should… be somewhere that isn't here for a while." Winston nodded towards the door meaningfully. Guerrero sighed.

"Whatever, dude. I was only trying to help." He slunk out of the kitchen just as Chance came in to investigate the cause of the disturbance, followed soon after by Ilsa and Pen.

"Huh, the client's awake then," Chance said.

"What on earth is going on?" Ilsa demanded. "Why is this man handcuffed?"

"Mrs Pucci, meet Ed Colgrove," Winston said, "our new client, if he wants our help, that is. He has a little history with Guerrero and he had to be handcuffed for his own safety."

"I don't see why he…" Ilsa began.

"He tried to stab Guerrero back on my boat." Pen interrupted.

"Ah, I see," Ilsa said, "I can see that could have escalated. Well, Mr Guerrero seems to have made himself scarce so I don't see any reason why we shouldn't release Mr Colgrove. Why don't we all adjourn to the conference room where we can discuss this properly?"

_I bet I know who'll get stuck fetching the coffee while all the interesting stuff goes on_, thought Ames. She considered slipping away before the request was made, but even if she snuck into the conference room when business was already under way it would only delay the inevitable. She let out a theatrical sigh and began putting together a tray of cups, cream and sugar.

"Ames, maybe you could…?"

She didn't even let Ilsa finish the question. "I'm on it boss. Coffee coming up."

"Conference room?" repeated Colgrove. It seemed to be sinking in that maybe he wasn't about to be executed. "Who are you people?"

"We're the people who are going to get you out of whatever mess it is you're running from," Chance said.

* * *

"That man, Guerrero, you know he's a killer right? He murdered my brother." Colgrove looked around at the people seated at the conference table, seeking an answer.

It wasn't a question any of them really wanted to answer. Winston avoided eye contact with Colgrove and stared off in to the distance at an imaginary horizon. Ilsa was surprised but not shocked by the revelation, although she tried to keep her expression neutral. She looked to Chance, unable to make herself justify or explain in any way Guerrero's actions past or present. Pen decided to stay out of it altogether, she didn't feel it was down to her to explain the strange company Colgrove found himself in. She'd done what she'd promised, she'd got him to people who could help him and it was up to them to explain their unusual set up.

That left Chance. He took a deep breath and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the conference table. He kept his body language neutral, hands resting with his palms up and open, showing he had nothing to hide.

"When you first met Guerrero he was…" Chance paused, searching for the right words. "a different man. A different man, leading a different life."

"He's still the man who murdered my brother!" Colgrove spat. "He shot him in the face, right in front of me! Did he tell you that?"

"As a matter of fact he did. I won't lie to you, Guerrero hasn't suddenly become a good person, all sweetness and light, but he has changed. He was paid to kill your brother. He doesn't do that anymore. His methods are still questionable by most people's standards but he has chosen to become a part of what we do here and that's help people."

Colgrove glared at Chance.

"Mr Chance is telling you the truth Mr Colgrove," Ilsa said. "We help people in extraordinary circumstances who would not be able to receive assistance from the normal channels. And I can assure you although Mr Chance and Mr Guerrero's methods may be unconventional, they do not include murder. I would not lend the support of my late husband's foundation to any enterprise that involved murder."

"Pucci," Colgrove frowned as he tried to remember why the name sounded familiar. "Of the Marshall Pucci Foundation?"

Ilsa smiled, "Yes, Marshall is… was my husband."

Colgrove nodded. "I remember reading something about your foundation sponsoring some after school scheme for poor kids in LA."

"The Marshall Pucci Foundation supports a number of after school programs," Ilsa said. "I think the one you are referring to got quite a lot of press coverage recently due to inference from some of the local gangs."

"And wasn't that a joy to straighten out." Winston muttered.

"We're getting a little side-tracked here Mr Colgrove," Ilsa said gently. "I hope the fact that I lend my full support to this operation will be sufficient to put your mind at ease regarding our intentions. If you wish for us to help you, you must tell us what your problem is."

Colgrove seemed to weigh it up for a moment but he knew he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"I don't see that I have any choice but to trust you, Mrs Pucci," he said eventually. "But I want nothing to do with Guerrero and I'd appreciate it if you made sure I never have to lay eyes on him again."

"Understood," Ilsa nodded and waited for him to tell his story.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target but I can rotate my tongue a full 360 degrees. True story.**

**Author's note: I'm not that happy with this chapter, it's a bit heavy on the exposition and it's very difficult to write a scene with so many people in it. I'm not sure everyone really got a chance to say their bit. I don't speak Spanish so the bad guy's nickname is brought to you by google.**

* * *

Ames walked in with the tray of coffees just in time to hear Ed Colgrove explain the nature of the trouble that had brought him to them. She placed the tray on the table and sat down.

"My father started a small import business in LA when I was a kid," Colgrove said. "It started off totally legit, importing hand-crafted souvenirs to sell to tourists through market stalls and vendors on the beech. It wasn't hugely successful but it was a living. My father was an ambitious man so when a guy approached him, offering big money to import counterfeit goods he jumped at the chance."

"What kind of counterfeit goods?" Ilsa asked.

"Luggage mostly. Fake designer purses, sometimes knock-off perfume or jeans." Colgrove replied.

"There's a hell of a lot of money to be made selling counterfeit designer goods," Winston said. "It's a business that's worth millions."

"And my father was naïve enough to believe that he'd see some of that money," Colgrove said, "but despite the amount of merchandise he shipped and the risks he took doing it, he wasn't making any more profit on it than he was with the souvenirs. Santiago, the man who had approached him, wasn't the entrepreneur my father took him for, he was working for a man named Miguel Bala Perdida."

Chance frowned. "That would be a problem."

"Wait," Ames said, "bala perdita that means 'stray bullet' - have I got that right?"

Chance nodded. "He's a Mexican gangster. He earned the name Bala Perdida when he shot one of his own men during a shoot out with a rival gang. There was a rumour that the man had been sleeping with Miguel's mistress and he killed him deliberately but he denied it. He said it was a stray bullet and the name stuck. Counterfeit goods aren't usually his thing,"

"No, they aren't," Colgrove agreed, "and it wasn't long before my father found out that the counterfeit goods were just a means to disguise the real cargo, cocaine."

"That sounds more like Bala Perdida to me." Chance said. "What happened?"

"At first my father tried to sever all links with the gang and go back to dealing in tacky souvenirs but the shipments of drugs kept coming. My father couldn't refuse the shipments without drawing attention to them so my brother Greg tried to persuade him to turn the whole thing over to the cops and be done with it. Santiago somehow heard about it and that's when Guerrero showed up. He murdered my brother right in front of me then he turned the gun on me and told me to give my father a message. He said to remind him that it was 'business as usual'."

There was an awkward silence.

"Do you know how that feels?" Colgrove demanded, "To have someone you care about snatched away from you and to be told it's just business?"

"As a matter of fact, I do, Mr Colgrove," Ilsa said sadly. "My husband was murdered for his money and the man responsible for his death told me much the same thing. He would have killed me too, if it weren't for Mr Chance and his team."

"And yet you have a man working for you who you know is a murderer!" Colgrove said with obvious disgust.

"More than one actually," Chance said. "I told you I would be honest with you and I meant it. Guerrero and I were both assassins and I'm not proud of that but it does give us a unique insight that allows us to help people who get in trouble with the kinds of people we used to be, people like Miguel Bala Perdida."

"The thought of asking for help from people like you sickens me," Colgrove said, "and if I had any other option available to me now I'd walk right out that door."

"Mr Colgrove, I completely understand how unpleasant this is for you," Ilsa said calmly, "but please, we need to hear the rest of your story if we are going to help you."

Colgrove stared at Chance for a moment before continuing.

"After Greg was murdered by your colleague my father gave in to Miguel's demands. It all went relatively smoothly for a few years until customs took a closer look at one of the shipments and my father was prosecuted for drug trafficking. It was his first major offence but he still got an eighteen year sentence. I was twenty-four at the time, I went to art college and worked part time for my father. I wanted to be a designer but that fell by the wayside when my father got put away. I had a visit from Santiago who told me it would be 'business as usual' unless I wanted my father to have an 'accident' while he was inside. I had to take over the operation to protect my father. I had no choice."

"But something has changed, hasn't it?" Chance asked. "Or you wouldn't be here right now."

"My father died a month ago. A heart attack. He was only fifty two." Colgrove said in a flat tone, almost devoid of emotion, but his hands were shaking, balled into tight fists on the table.

"So you decided to cut and run?" Chance asked.

"Not exactly," Colgrove replied, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "I managed to liquidate a few assets first. I knew I'd need the cash to get out of LA, maybe leave the country and set up a business somewhere, but Santiago got wind of what I was doing and I had to leave a lot sooner than I'd planned. I had to leave the cash behind. Taking the first boat out of LA was my only option. Unfortunately it was only a ferry going to Catalina Island but from there I hid out onboard the Indigo Bell and you know the rest."

"Why do you still need our help?" Ames asked. "I mean, you got out of LA so you're in the clear, right?"

"Not even close," Chance said. "Bala Perdida has a long arm. Getting out of the state is unlikely to be enough, maybe even the country."

"But surely this Miguel wouldn't bother going to a lot of trouble just to hunt down one man," Ilsa said. "I'm sure his whole criminal enterprise wasn't dependant on just Mr Colgrove!"

"It's not the point, Ilsa," Winston explained. "A man like Miguel Bala Perdida relies on a reputation of total ruthlessness."

"Winston is right," Chance said, "There's no way he can just let it go. Even if you'd have made it out of LA with some going away money, you probably wouldn't have got far once word got out amongst the Mexican gangs that there was a bounty on your head."

"So what can I do?" Colgrove asked. "It's not like you can take down the entire Mexican mafia."

"I don't know," Winston said, "I wouldn't put it past Chance to try…"

"We need a plan," Chance said, ignoring Winston's remark, "and I'm sorry Mr Colgrove, I think I'm going to need Guerrero's help on this one."

Colgrove didn't reply. He just stared at the untouched tray of coffees that were rapidly cooling on the conference table. He had no choice.

* * *

Chance found Guerrero in the garage down stairs vacuuming the interior of the Eldo. When Guerrero saw him approach, he cut the power on the vacuum cleaner.

"Hey dude, you got a job or what?"

"Yeah, _we've _got a job. Colgrove is in it up to his neck."

"Let me guess, Bala Perdida?"

Chance nodded.

"I figured as much. Colgrove senior worked for him."

"Pen said you recognised Ed Colgrove the second you saw him." Chance said, sitting down on a convenient crate.

"So?"

"So, you killed his brother twelve years ago. I'm surprised you clocked who he was so fast. I don't know that I'd remember the face of a witness to something I did twelve years ago unless…"

"Unless what dude?" Guerrero stared at Chance, his eyes empty of emotion.

"Unless there was something about the hit that stayed with me." He replied.

"I don't see what you're getting at here Chance."

"I know that twelve years ago we were both still working for the Old Man and that the kind of jobs we were doing were a lot more high risk than just running around doing the work that would usually be left to a gang's enforcer."

"Yeah, I remember."

"So what was with the Colgrove job? I can't see the Old Man assigning you such a small job, not when your skills were in demand elsewhere."

"I wasn't exactly thrilled about it."

"But something about that job made you remember it, made you remember Ed Colgrove."

"Dude," Guerrero's voice had a warning edge to it, "it's ancient history. Leave it alone."

"That job stayed with you and I want to know why."

Guerrero sighed. "You're not going to leave this alone, are you?"

"In a word: no."

"Fine. You wanna know why I killed that kid's brother? The boss was punishing me. Remember that job in Warsaw? The one when Baptiste took a 9mm to the guts? I was supposed to be running tech support for that operation but I blew it off so I could run a little side project. The local guy I got to stand in for me totally fucked up and Baptiste nearly died. The Old Man was pissed that Baptiste got hurt but what really fucked him off was the fact that I'd disobeyed his orders. He thought it was time I was reminded where I'd be if I left the fold, the kind of work I could expect to be doing."

"So he sent you to do Miguel's dirty work."

"Yeah and do you know what he paid me?"

Chance shook his head.

"A hundred bucks plus gas money. So yeah, that kid and his brother kinda lodged in my memory. I hadn't killed a guy for so little since…" Guerrero stopped mid-sentence.

"Since before the Old Man found you," Chance finished for him.

"Yeah."

Chance nodded. He knew it wasn't really about the amount Guerrero had been paid. It was about the threat of being shut out, of being just another guy on the street, of having to start again from nothing. These days the thought wouldn't have bother Guerrero but twelve years ago... things had been different.

"He scared you." Chance said.

"Call it what you want dude, it was a wake up call. I pulled my shit together after that."

"When you saw Ed Colgrave…"

"I'm so not up for a Hallmark moment here dude. It's done. It's in the past. I don't have a problem helping out on the Colgrove case but I'm not sure my presence would be appreciated. I killed the dude's brother. This isn't a chance for me to redeem myself, the guy doesn't give a shit if I've changed or not. I did what I had to do and I _still _do what I have to do to get a job done. Things aren't that different."

"Well," Chance said as he stood up, "we're going to need your help on this job so quit hiding and get your ass upstairs and help me figure out how we're going to help this guy."

"Just keep Colgrave away from the cutlery draw dude. If he tries to stab me again this is going to be a very short case."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target but I do have a sofa cushion that says 'Keep calm and carry on'. I hug it and try and take the advice to heart. True story.**

**Author's note: I've let this fic languish for a while and it might take a couple of chapters to get back up to speed again so I'm sorry if this chapter is a bit meh. There will be kickass action scenes to follow, once I've wrangled my plot bunnies back on to the treadmill.**

* * *

"I don't understand why we can't just fly him out of the country on my jet," Ilsa said, "Mr Colgrove could just start over somewhere else. I'm sure Mr Guerrero could provide him with a new identity."

Ilsa, Winston and Pen were still sitting around the conference table when Chance returned from the garage with Guerrero. Ames was keeping Colgrove himself busy somewhere out of sight where there would be no chance of him bumping into Guerrero.

"That's one option, I guess," Guerrero said as he sat down, placing his laptop in front of him on the conference table, "although it kinda depends on how attached you are to your jet. And your pilot."

"What do you mean?" Ilsa asked, frowning.

"I think what Guerrero is referring to, Mrs Pucci, is that if this Bala Perdida guy finds out that Colgrove is on your jet, he might blow it up or shoot it down," Winston explained,

"But how would he know that Mr Colgrove was even on board?"

"Even passengers on private flights have some contact with airport staff, Ilsa," Chance explained. "There's no guarantee that someone wouldn't tip Bala Perdida off."

"Dude, Bala Perdida isn't the guy you should be worrying about right now," Guerrero said as he tapped away at his keyboard.

"How so?" Asked Ilsa.

Guerrero sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"Santiago is the guy that's doing the chasing here, not Bela Perdida. Yeah, Santiago is working for the guy and has access to all his manpower and resources, but he's the one that's really been made to look bad by Colgrove getting away, not Bala Perdida. Santiago is the one who needs to save face in front of his boss."

"But surely if you took care of the boss his men would have no reason to pursue Mr Colgrove," Ilsa said.

Guerrero shook his head.

"That's not the way it works, Ilsa. Not even close. Firstly, 'taking care of' Balla Perdida would be a major undertaking. It's something the cops, the feds and Interpol haven't managed with their combined efforts over the last twenty years, so unless you're considering asking us to just kill the guy 'taking care of him' is not an option. Besides, even if Bela Perdida were neutralised, the chances are that Santiago would make a play to take his place, which would only make Colgrove's situation worse."

"Oh," Ilsa said, "Well, at least we have a little breathing space. Penny has assured me that no one knows that Mr Colgrove was on board the Indigo Bell when it left Catalina, so presumably no one knows we have him here either."

Guerrero raised an eyebrow at Ilsa's use of the name Penny, and Pen shot him a look that dared him to make an issue of it. He smiled, but resisted the urge to comment, instead he resumed working on his laptop.

"You guys seem to have a handle on the situation, so I guess it's time to love ya and leave ya," Pen said, as she stood up. "The bad guys don't know I was involved so I'm gonna split before things get too interesting. I'm trying to keep a low profile at the mo and something tells me you're gonna be attracting the wrong sort of attention once the word gets out that you're helping Colgrove."

Chance stood up an moved round the table to envelop Pen in a rib crushing bear hug.

"It was good seeing you, Pen," Chance said. "Don't leave it so long next time."

"Well, you know how to get hold of me if you need me," Pen said, thumping Chance on the arm hard enough to leave a bruise, as payback for the hug.

"Dude, you may want to hold back on the whole touching farewell scene," Guerrero said, spinning the laptop round so they could see the screen. "I think Pen may have a problem."

"What is that?" Winston asked. "Google Earth?"

Guerrero shook his head.

"No. That is a satellite image of the marina where the Indigo Bell is supposed to be docked right now. It was taken forty-five minutes ago."

Pen leaned forward to take a closer look, then let out a string of expletives when she realised what she was looking at.

"Where's my bloody boat?" Pen shouted. "Someone's taken my bloody boat!"

"Is there a chance that Sam or Johno could have er… moved it?" Winston asked, aware of how stupid the question sounded.

"No fuckin' way, man," Pen spat in reply. "There's no way they would move the Indi without my say so. They know if they even considered it, I'd gut'em like a fish and kick'em overboard."

"Well, I think we can assume that this has something to do with Mr Colgrove," Ilsa said. "Maybe someone did know he was aboard."

"Gimmee that," Pen said grabbing at the laptop and typing rapidly. "I should be able to track her from her GPS signal."

Guerrero clearly wasn't too happy that Pen had just commandeered his computer, but to Ilsa's surprise he merely frowned and let Pen get on with it. After a minute or two Pen began swearing again and when it looked like she might take out her frustrations on the laptop, Guerrero snatched it back from her with a murderous look, and a muttered warning of "Easy dude!"

"Sorry G," she said, not really sounding that apologetic, "but not only have the bastards disabled the GPS but they've also trashed the tracker that no one but me and Johno even knows about. If they found it they must have Johno too. Probably Sam as well. Shit!"

"Could Johno be helping them? Can he be trusted?" Ilsa asked.

Pen shook her head and chewed at her lower lip.

"No way. There is absolutely no way Johno would do that to me. I trust him with my life."

"She's right, dude," Guerrero said, "Johno is totally loyal to Pen. They would have had to put some serious pressure on him to make him give up the location of that tracker."

"What about Sam?" Winston asked. "He hasn't been with you for as long as Johno. Would he have sold you out?"

"I don't know," Pen said, rubbing at her forehead. "Before now I would have put money on him being a straight up kind of guy but…"

"We have to assume that if Santiago is the one that's hunting Colgrove down…" Chance said.

"He is, dude. Trust me." Guerrero interrupted.

"…if it is Santiago then we have to assume that the Indi and both Johno and Sam are being held hostage. He's probably going to try and exchange them for Colgrove. Chances are that the Indi is still in the San Francisco area. He'll want to keep it nearby to make the exchange."

"Can you find her with that satellite?" Pen asked Guerrero, indicating the laptop.

He shook his head, "I got lucky with that image of the marina, it was on the satellite's pre-planned trajectory. It's already moved on. If I'd have known a couple of hours ago I maybe could have reprogrammed it to track the Indi, but there's been nothing else monitoring the area in hours."

Pen collapsed back in to her seat with an angry grunt.

"What now?" she asked. "Dealing with kidnappers is your thing not mine. How are we going to get my damn boat back?"

"I don't want to belittle the plight of your boat and its crew, Penny," Ilsa said carefully, "but Mr Colgrove is our client now and we can't hand him over to Santiago or Bala Perdida, even to save your men's lives."

"Pen knows that Ilsa," Chance said. "but she needs our help too."

"So what's the plan?" Winston asked.

"Santiago's next move will be to contact us with details of the exchange," Chance said. "We have to be ready."

"It's not just a case of getting Penny's boat back either, Chance," Ilsa reminded him. "You still have to find a way to ensure Mr Colgrove's safety."

"And that means dealing with Santiago and persuading Bala Perdida it's not worth his while to send anyone else after him." Guerrero added.

Winston groaned when he saw the look on Chance's face. He knew that look. It usually showed up on Chance's face right before someone suggested a plan involving almost suicidal levels of risk.

"Sounds do-able," Chance grinned. "How hard can it be?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target but I did get ID-ed when buying tobacco today, despite the fact I'm 31! True Story.**

**Author's note: I know I've been unforgivably slow in posting new chapters for this fic but in my defence Chance keeps running naked through my head and it's quite distracting.**

* * *

Ames was relieved when Ilsa left the conference room to check on Colgrove and gave her a chance to slip away, muttering something about needing to use the bathroom She'd come to the conclusion that although the client was undoubtedly easy on the eye, now he was in a fully conscious state he wasn't any more interesting than he was when he was knocked out. She'd made some attempt at conversation but it was tough going when the guy only gave monosyllabic responses to anything she said. Besides, she had no idea what to talk about. The usual subjects of family and work were definitely out of bounds and he was too absorbed in his own problems to want to talk about music or movies. In the end Ames turned on the TV and put some cookery program on for them to pretend to watch. It was the most neutral thing she could find and although it was deathly dull, at least she didn't have to continue the awkward farce of making small talk.

After she excused herself and left Ilsa to give Colgrove the standard client pep talk - trust us, we can help you, unconventional methods, blah blah blah - Ames headed to the roof for a bit of alone time. She flopped down on the sun-lounger she'd left there for just such an occasion and plugged in her earbuds. It was a bit to chilly to sunbathe and the wind was gusting quite strongly, so she pulled her hair back in to a pony tail to stop it from getting in her face and just laid back, shut her eyes and let her mind drift as she listened to the music.

After a while she got the uncomfortable prickly feeling at the back of her head that warned her she was being watched. It was a sensation that she had learned to trust, as it had pulled out of harm's way frequently when she'd been hustling. It often tipped her off way before she even got a visual on an undercover cop in her vicinity. She slowly opened her eyes and just managed to swallow a cry of surprise when she saw Pen not ten feet away from her perched on the wall at the edge of the roof, apparently oblivious to the dizzying, and not to mention lethal, drop to the street behind her. It wasn't Pen's disregard for personal safety that held Ames' attention though, it was the length of rope she was holding. In Ames' experience, someone sneaking up on you with a length of rope never ended well, but she realised that Pen was methodically knotting and unknotting the rope with the same slightly distant look that Chance had when he was doing his tai chi. No sooner had she looped and twisted the thin length of rope into a complicated configuration, than she was pulling the knot loose and untangling it.

"Hey, kiddo," Pen said when Ames sat up and pulled her earbuds out.

"I told you already, my name is Ames," she said slightly huffily.

"Sure kid, whatever."

"Shouldn't you be getting back to your boat?"

From the look that darkened Pen's face, Ames knew she'd put her foot in it somehow but she wasn't quite sure how.

"Yeah, well normally I would be back on the Indi by now," Pen sighed, "but it seems the bad guys did know about my stowaway. They've taken my boat and my crew and Chance recons they're gonna propose a trade in exchange for Colgrove."

"Oh, well that sucks."

Pen gave a bitter little laugh and shook her head.

"Yeah, I'm kinda fighting the urge to drag Colgrove's whiney ass down to the marina and handing him over myself right now. In fact if I hadn't got Chance and Guerrero mixed up in all this, that's exactly what I'd do. It'd serve the prick right for sneaking on to my boat uninvited."

"Would you really do that?" Ames asked, her eyes widening at the thought of handing the helpless Colgrove over to a gangster and a certain death sentence. "You know they'd kill him, right?"

"In a second," Pen replied and the look on her face showed Ames that she wasn't joking.

"Jeez, it's just a boat…"

"No, it's my home, my livelihood and well to be honest, the love of my life. I don't expect you to understand, but that boat _is _my life. Not to mention the fact that my crew have probably been tortured or even killed. I owe it to them to do everything in my power to get them, and the Indi, back."

Ames frowned. The Indigo Bell seemed even more important to Pen than the Eldo meant to Guerrero, and that was saying something.

"So why…" Ames began to ask but Pen interrupted before she could even get the question out.

"Why am I sitting up here instead of downstairs drawing up the battle plans?" Ames nodded. "Because I know my strengths and planning a job like this isn't one of them, not when it's the Indi and my crew that are at stake. Ilsa was very diplomatic about making it clear that the trade wasn't going to take place and I trust Chance to work out an effective alternative. Besides, the bastards have disabled the GPS so there's no way I can just track them down and blow their fucking heads off, so I decided to come up here to cool down before I lost my patience and offed Colgrove myself."

"So what's with the rope?" Ames asked.

Pen looked down at her hands as if she hadn't even noticed her hands had been working at tying, untangling and retying knots throughout their conversation.

"This? It's just habit I guess. I can't stand just sitting around doing nothing, so I find having something to do with my hands helps me chill. Why, is it making you nervous?"

"A bit, yeah," Ames admitted. "Rope is kind of up there in my list of things to avoid, along with duct tape and handcuffs."

Pen smiled, glad of the distraction talking to Ames was providing.

"I bet you don't have too much trouble with handcuffs. Or duct tape either for that matter."

"Piece of cake." "Ames beamed at her with pride. "Guerrero learned that the hard way."

"Oh really? I bet that didn't go down to well."

"It didn't go down that badly," Ames shrugged. "It happened right before I joined the team."

"And how's that working out for you?"

Ames nearly replied with her standard boast that the team would be lost without her but despite the off-hand way that Pen asked the question, the older woman actually seemed genuinely interested in her answer. She made the snap decision to answer truthfully.

"I don't get to do much," she said. "Most of the stuff they ask me to do is either really menial or kinda lame. I'm pretty much the only one around here that gets asked, no _told _to do chores around the office and when I do get to go on a job, I usually have to be the distraction, or else I'm the one herding the client away from the gunfire. Occasionally I have to lift a wallet or some guy's keys, but that's about as interesting as it gets."

"Not quite what you were hoping for, huh?"

"No, not really. Although I do get to watch Guerrero work, which can be kinda awesome."

"Ah, Guerrero…" Pen said with a knowing smile.

"Why'd you say it like that?" Ames frowned. "He's amazing! Why wouldn't I want to watch him work?"

"Don't get me wrong, the guy's a god damn artist! I'm just still trying to figure out why you keep trying all that feminine wiles bullshit on him when he's so obviously immune to it. Either you're a total masochist with a serious need for rejection or you haven't figured out how to handle him yet. Which is it?"

The directness of Pen's question caught Ames off-guard and she felt the telltale heat rush to her face as she blushed.

"A bit of both then, maybe," Pen said, smiling but trying to save Ames the embarrassment of having to confirm the truth behind her observations.

Ames decided to ignore the fact that Pen had picked up on the perverse attraction she felt towards Guerrero and focus on the fact that she had no idea how to handle him.

"Usually I can handle working with guys pretty easily," Ames confessed. "All it normally takes is a bit of flirting and some friendly banter and I've got them eating out of the palm of my hand."

"But Guerrero isn't exactly your typical guy."

"No."

"Well maybe you should stop trying to treat him like one. You must have noticed that just annoys him."

Ames shrugged but she knew Pen was right.

"Let me give you some advice. Stop trying so hard to get everyone's attention. If there's one thing that Guerrero respects, and Chance too for that matter, it's efficiency. Don't make a big fuss over everything, just get on with it."

Ames frowned. "What makes you think you know so much about what the guys think of me? You've been here like five minutes… "

"Yeah, but I've known Guerrero and Chance most of my life and I've seen enough of you pouting and complaining to know that you can be kind of a brat."

Ames glared at Pen, but she had a sinking feeling that there was some truth in what she was saying.

"How am I supposed to impress them when I never get to do anything interesting?"

"You need to work on some new skills. Show them you're more than a pretty face and sticky fingers. You're never going to be able to match what Chance and Guerrero do, so following them round like a lovesick teenager hoping that some how their skills are going to rub off on you is just plain dumb."

"Fuck you." Ames got up to leave.

"And there you go with sulking and pouting again," Pen grinned.

Ames paused. She didn't want to sit there being insulted, she'd actually rather be playing office girl for the team than listen to Pen tear her to pieces. But if she left she gave her the smug satisfaction of being proved right, and that was just unbearable. She stood her ground and glared at Pen.

Pen nodded, as if Ames had finally got something right, and tossed her the rope.

"If you're going to make yourself useful round here, we might as well start off with this." Pen extended her arms in front of her. "Show me how you'd use that to tie me up."

Ames looked at her suspiciously but she seemed to be genuine. She shrugged, deciding to humour Pen. After all, tying someone up wasn't exactly rocket science…

She wrapped the rope around Pen's wrists six or seven time before passing the remaining length between her wrists and tying it off with as many knots as the remaining rope would allow.

"Is that it?" Pen asked. "Are you happy with that?"

"You're tied up aren't you?" Ames shrugged. She couldn't see anything wrong with how she'd done it.

"It looks like it but…" Pen twisted her wrists and Ames was surprised to see just how much slack she'd left in the rope. "With a little more wriggling I could just slip this off or…" Pen twisted her wrists a bit further and began to unpick Ames' knots with surprising ease.

Ames frowned. "How was I supposed to do it?"

"Hold out your arms and I'll show you."

"How do I know your not just going to tie me up and sit there laughing your ass off? How do I know it's not just a trick?"

"I like the way your mind works." Pen smiled. "You're suspicious. You'll need that in this line of work. But in this case, you don't need to worry, Ames. I'm going to show you the trick."

Pen had finally called her by her name and that, along with the fact that she really did seem to want too teach her something, reassured her. With a bare minimum of eye rolling and pouting Ames held out her wrists for Pen's demonstration.

"You only need to wraps the rope around the wrists three maybe four times. The trick is then to use the remaining rope to increase the tension like this…"


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target but I will keep writing Human Target fic regardless of the show's fate.**

**Author's note: I am a bit depressed at the moment (only one more episode of season 2 left!) and that does tend to slow me down but I will try and devote a bit more time and energy to poor old 'Cargo'. This chapter is a bit... gruesome, but only a little bit!**

* * *

They were on the roof for an hour or so before it started to rain. Ames had impressed Pen with the speed with which she'd learned the knots she had shown her and they'd moved on to Pen showing her the best way to break a fall without injury, after Ames had complained about the number of times she'd been knocked on her ass recently. Pen didn't seem in the slightest bit bothered by the change in weather but Ames soon lost interest in her lesson when it became apparent that they were going to get soaked.

As they walked back into the open plan space of the office, Winston was signing for a delivery whilst Guerrero ripped open a small, plain cardboard box.

"We've got confirmation on the kidnapping and the theft of Pen's boat," Guerrero said, examining the contents. "And details for the exchange."

The delivery man was looking very nervous and was trying to pull his clipboard away from Winston's hands. Chance walked in and gave the delivery guy a calculating look before joining Guerrero in examining the contents of the box. Winston released his hold on the clipboard and the delivery guy hurried back to the elevator and franticly began pressing the button that would take him downstairs. Pen rushed over to Guerrero and snatched the box from his hands.

"Oh fuck! Johno…" she sobbed when she saw its contents. For a split second she froze, but when she heard the elevator doors close behind the delivery man she sprinted for the stairs.

"There's no point chasing him!" Winston called after her. "He's just a delivery guy!"

Something seemed to be bothering Chance and he frowned for a second until it clicked.

"Shoes!" He groaned as he ran off after Pen.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Winston grumbled.

"When was the last time you saw a delivery guy wearing $300 shoes?" Guerrero asked. "That dude didn't work for FedEx. Looks like Santiago sent the package over with one of his own men. He'll regret that once Pen catches up with him."

"What's in the box?" Ames asked.

Winston looked over Guerrero's shoulder and pulled a face.

"Man, that's nasty!"

"What is it?" Ames repeated, although from the look on Winston's face she was beginning to wonder if she really wanted to know."

"See for yourself, dude," Guerrero said, walking towards her with the box.

"Don't show it to her! She doesn't need to see it!" Winston protested.

Ames had to look now, otherwise it would look like she had chickened out and she didn't want to lose face in front of Guerrero. She took a deep breath and looked into the box. From Winston's reaction, she had expected whatever was inside to be fairly gruesome but, although she'd tried to mentally prepare herself to see a finger, an ear or even something worse, the sight of a man's little finger and ring finger still attached to part of the palm of a hand still threatened to bring up every meal she'd eaten in the last few days. Through a mixture of sheer will-power and deep breathing she succeeded in fighting back the urge to vomit.

"Why did they do that?" She asked. "I mean, not send us a body part I get that. Why not just cut the fingers off? Wouldn't that have been easier?"

"Depends what tools you have on you," Guerrero shrugged. "If you have bolt cutters, the fingers snap off pretty easily but this looks like it was done with a machete or a meat cleaver. It's harder to be accurate with a blade like that. Your victim squirms at the wrong moment and he wouldn't be the only one losing his fingers. It's easierto hold down their wrist and aim for between the bones of the hand and split it in half like you're chopping wood. "

"Guerrero!" Winston snapped. Looking distinctly nauseated at the casual manner in which he was discussing mutilating the human hand.

"What?" he asked. "She did ask!"

"It seems worse somehow," Ames mused, "the idea of someone out there with only half a hand. I mean, missing fingers is bad enough… but missing half a hand?"

"It increases the likelihood of the recipient identifying the owner without running the prints too." Guerrero said, carefully removing the note that had been tucked down the side of the box's grizzly contents. "Pen recognised it as being Johno's straight away."

"What's Johno's?" Ilsa asked. No one had noticed her leave Colgrove in her office to see what the commotion was, and Winston and Ames were reluctant to enlighten her.

"This," Guerrero said, walking towards her with the box. Winston smoothly intercepted him before he could show Ilsa its contents. Guerrero glared at him as he was pushed aside.

"Ah, it's nothing you really need to see, Mrs Pucci," he said with an almost convincing smile. "It's just something that Santiago sent over to confirm that he has the Indigo Bell and Pen's men."

Ilsa narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. She knew it was unlikely that the gangster had sent something as simple as a driving license to confirm his possession of the hostages, and judging from Ames' pallor and Winston's reluctance to let Guerrero show her the contents of the box, she knew it would be something… distasteful.

"What, precisely, is in the box, Mr Winston?"

"It's his hand!" Ames blurted out before Winston could reply.

"It's only really half a hand," Guerrero corrected, poking at the article in question with his finger whilst examining it with a cool, professional eye.

"I see," Ilsa said in a surprisingly calm voice.

"It's mostly just fingers," Winston said weakly, kicking himself for being too slow to think of a way from saving Ilsa the details.

"Well, as I understand it, the thing to do in this situation is to put the severed appendage on ice until it can be re-attached."

Winston and Ames just stared at Ilsa, both of them rendered speechless by the calm manner in which she seemed to be taking the news of the delivery of half a severed hand to the office.

"Hmm, could be worth a try I guess," Guerrero shrugged as he headed in to the kitchen with the box. "If we can get to Johno fast enough a really good surgeon might be able to reattach it. It's a nice neat edge."

"Where are Chance and Pen?" Ilsa asked.

"They went after the delivery guy," Winston replied. "They seemed to think Santiago sent one of his men to deliver the package. They'll probably bring him back here to er… talk to Guerrero."

"Well then, Mr Winston," Ilsa said rather stiffly, "I am entrusting you with the responsibility to ensure the man is treated humanely. Now if you'll please excuse me…" Ilsa started walking quickly towards the bathroom, breaking out into a jog and clasping her hand to her mouth as she passed the kitchen door. Winston and Ames exchanged an awkward look at the muffled sound of Ilsa vomiting.

"Well, she handled that better than I thought she would," muttered Winston


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and I'm still begging for reviews, dammit!**

**Author's note: I seem to have 2 multi-chapter fics in the works at the moment (the other is 'Blindsided') so I'll do my best to alternate between them as much as possible. Reviews tend to spur me on though, so if you want faster updates you know what to do...**

* * *

Once the sound of her vomiting in the bathroom had subsided, Ames took Ilsa in a glass of water and after a short interval both women returned to the client waiting in Ilsa's office. Not long after Ames closed the office door behind them, the elevator doors opened to reveal that Chance and Pen had returned with the man who had posed as a delivery guy. The man was in a pretty sorry state, his uniform was ripped, his tell-tale $300 shoes were scuffed beyond repair and he'd obviously taken heavy blows to his face, as blood flowed freely from both his nose and his split lips. His hands were bound in front of him and were also bleeding heavily, but Winston barely had a chance to register the man's catalogue of injuries before Pen planted her foot against the man's back and kicked him out of the elevator.

Guerrero reappeared from the kitchen holding a cup of tea and he casually walked over to where the unfortunate man was sprawled face down on the floor. The man was trying to lift himself up but the injuries to his hands made this difficult, especially as his blood made the polished floor slippery.

"I think you and me are going to have a little talk, dude," he said quietly.

"I'll make him fucking talk!" Pen said as she stepped out of the elevator and delivered a solid kick to the fallen man's back before anyone could stop her. Chance was only just quick enough to prevent her from further injuring the man as he grabbed her by the wrists and dragged her away.

"Leave the questioning to Guerrero, Pen," he said firmly. "We won't get anything out of him if you kick him to death."

Pen reluctantly stopped struggling against Chance's steel like grip on her wrists but he didn't release her straight away.

"Are you going to leave this to us?" he asked, forcing her to look at him instead of the man lying bleeding and groaning on the floor. "I need your word on this Pen."

"Fine," she said. "Guerrero can fuck him up much better than I can anyway. You hear that you bastard?"

The man looked from Pen to Guerrero and was not reassured by the bland little half-smile on his face. Something about the look in his blue-grey eyes unnerved him and he thought he'd rather take his chances on being kicked to death by the vengeful woman than be in a room alone with Guerrero.

Ames opened the office door just enough to poke her head out. "Hey guys, you really need to take him somewhere that's, y'know, not here! Ilsa doesn't want Colgrove to hear all this!" she hissed before ducking back into the office and closing the door behind her.

"She's right," Chance said, thinking of how Colgrove might react to the sounds of Guerrero questioning the man. "Let's take him down to the garage."

Chance cautiously released his grip on Pen's wrists, moving slowly until he was satisfied that she wasn't going to attack the phoney deliveryman again. As he walked towards the terrified man still sprawled at Guerrero's feet Winston pulled him aside.

"Ilsa was very specific about how we're supposed to handle this guy," he said in a low voice so that the man in question couldn't overhear what was being said. "She wants me to ensure that he's treated humanely. I can't let you set Guerrero loose on him."

Chance paused, "Well as long as we don't let him know that, it shouldn't be a problem. I'll make sure Guerrero doesn't go too far."

Winston shook his head. "I think I'm going to have to sit in on this one, Chance. The guy is already pretty badly injured. What the hell happened to his hands?"

"Pen got to him before I did," Chance explained. "She'd already taken him down and pinned his hands to a dumpster with a knife before I caught up with them. He's lucky I found them when I did."

Winston grimaced. "I'll take him down to the garage with Guerrero. It might be best if you stayed up here and make sure Pen doesn't get any ideas about assisting with the interrogation."

Chance glanced back at Pen, and when he saw the murderous look on her face he knew Winston was right. Normally he'd accept her word without question, but right now she was so angry that she might try and take thing into her own hands, despite agreeing to leave it to Guerrero.

"Okay, I'll stay here and keep an eye on Pen but let Guerrero do his thing. If that guy catches on to the fact that he's not going to come to any harm it's going to make it almost impossible to make him talk."

Winston felt very uneasy about being the one person standing between their prisoner and Guerrero and Chance could see he wasn't happy with the idea.

"I'll have a quick word with Guerrero," Chance said. "I'll make sure he knows what his limits are on this."

Winston gave him a grateful look and Chance gave his arm a reassuring pat before he pulled Guerrero aside and muttered something in his ear. Guerrero kept his expression neutral and nodded once to show that he understood before giving the fake delivery man a slow, calculating smile. Winston sighed and strode over to the man who was visibly shaking on the floor. He took one arm and Guerrero took the other and between them they half-carried, half-dragged the man back into the elevator. As the doors closed behind them, Chance thought he heard just the hint of a whimper from the captive but the sound was drowned out by the explosive sigh that Pen let out.

"You okay?" he asked Pen.

She shrugged.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked awkwardly.

She shook her head and Chance was relieved. He wasn't sure there was much he could have said to reassure her at that particular moment anyway.

* * *

Winston and Guerrero dumped the delivery guy on a chair in the garage and Winston kept an eye on him whilst Guerrero retrieved his tackle box from the trunk of the Eldo. He dumped it on top of a small table and carried them both over to where the man was squirming against Winston's hands gripping his shoulders, holding him in his seat. Guerrero pulled up another chair and sat down facing the injured man across the table. He reached over and grabbed the man's wrists and pinned them to the table with one hand whilst he groped under the table with the other. The delivery man's eyes widened in alarm when he saw the straps that Guerrero pulled out from underneath the table and he struggled against Guerrero's grip on his wrists as the steely-eyed man calmly strapped his forearms to the table.

Guerrero sat and stared dispassionately at him for a minute or two before letting out a bored sigh and producing a switchblade from his pocket. The man began struggling with renewed vigour against the straps binding his forearms to the table and in his desperation he managed to lift it an inch or two off the ground. Guerrero nodded at Winston who then shifted his grip from the man's shoulders to lean on the table so it remained firmly on the ground. With a quick flick of the blade, Guerrero cut through the cord that bound the man's wrists together and quickly adjusted the straps that bound his arms so that the man's hands were held flat against the surface of the table. With Winston's weight added to the table, the man's hands were now completely immobilised.

"Brad, you don't mind if I call you that do you?" Guerrero asked, pointing at the name badge on the man's shirt with the tip of his knife. The man tried to jerk away from the blade but his restraints prevented him from doing so. Wide eyed, he shook his head to indicate that he didn't care what Guerrero called him. Guerrero nodded and opened his tackle box and began rummaging through its contents as he spoke.

"Well, Brad, right about now is the time when I'd normally be offering you a choice. You have information that I want and I have any number of ways of encouraging you to share it." He paused for a moment as he held a vicious looking fish hook in one hand and an equally sinister looking pair of pliers in the other and seemed to be weighing up the possibilities each held for Brad.

"I'm not telling you anything!" Brad said in a slightly shaky voice, his eyes darting between the fish hook and the pliers in Guerrero's hands.

"I know you work for Santiago," Guerrero said, apparently dismissing the idea of using the pliers as he tossed them back into his tackle box.

"Then you know why I won't talk," Brad said swallowing nervously as Guerrero selected another implement from the box in front of him. This time it was a much larger hook, with multiple barbs than were designed to cause a lot more damage when it was pulled out than when it was going in.

"That's going to be a problem," Guerrero said, dropping the smaller of the two hooks back into the box and holding up the larger one to Brad's face. To his credit, Brad didn't even cry out as Guerrero used the fingers of one hand to hold the lids of one eye open and brought the jagged hook right up to his eyeball.

"That's enough!" Winston barked, when it seemed as though Guerrero was about to do something far worse than just show Brad the fish hook up close.

Guerrero sighed and dropped his hands on to the table, making Brad sob with relief.

"Seriously, dude," Guerrero said, giving Winston an exasperated look, "I'm trying to work here!"

Winston glared at him and shook his head.

"Fine!" Guerrero snapped, dropping the fish hook. "Luckily for you, Brad, the boss has sent Jiminy Cricket here to make sure I don't damage you in any way, which kind of limits my options a bit."

Brad's shoulders sagged in relief and Guerrero paused for a moment to let the guy enjoy the hope that he would be released without further injury or pain. When the man actually began to smirk at him, Guerrero lifted the top layer out of the tackle box and began taking things out of the lower compartment. Brad watched as he produced a bottle of disinfectant, a small box containing a variety of needles, and some fishing line and laid them out in front of him on the table.

"It seems that the _humane _thing to do Brad, is to patch you up," Guerrero glared at Winston over Brad's head, making sure he'd picked up on the way he'd stressed the word 'humane'. He picked up the bottle of disinfectant and gave the label a cursory glance. "This stuff is supposed to be diluted in ten parts water, but knowing how rarely Pen actually cleans her knives, I'd say we ought to use this neat, don't you?"

Guerrero didn't wait for the man to answer before he poured the concentrated disinfectant directly into the open wounds on the man's hands. Brad gritted his teeth and let out a muted groan as the liquid hit his flesh and burned like acid.

"Of course with puncture wounds like that you can't just slosh a bit of disinfectant on it, you need to get right in there and make sure you clean it out properly…" Guerrero picked out a wad of gauze from the box and wrapped it around the tip of his index finger and doused it with more disinfectant before plunging it into the open wound in the back of Brad's right hand. Brad screamed and Guerrero glanced up at Winston to see how he was taking his 'humanitarian' approach to torture. Winston didn't exactly look comfortable with what Guerrero was doing but he shrugged to indicate that he could live with it, for now at least.

"Where is Santiago and what has he done with Pen's crew?" Guerrero asked in a relaxed conversational kind of way.

"Fuck you!" Brad spat at him between gasping breaths as tears began to stream from his eyes.

Guerrero pushed his gauze covered finger harder into the wound and twisted it, making him scream and curse.

"I hope you're not a piano player, dude, 'cause I think I just felt a tendon pop."

Guerrero glanced up at Winston again and saw that at the mention of popping tendons he'd gone a little green. Guerrero sighed. The interrogation would be so much easier if he could just concentrate on breaking Brad down instead of worrying about how far he could push things without Winston objecting. He removed his finger from the wound on Brad's right hand and, with a fresh piece of gauze he began the 'cleaning' process on the other hand as the injured man began to sob.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's note: Sorry for the delay in updating this fic. The plot bunnies have been particularly distracting lately and they've had slash on their minds! Hopefully they will let me finish this much neglected case-fic before they drag me back to writing more slash. (Just to be clear Cargo doesn't contain slash but pretty much everything else I've posted recently does!)**

* * *

Ilsa felt ill at ease with the idea of Guerrero interrogating the phoney deliveryman, even with Winston present to make sure things didn't get out of hand. Actually she felt downright appalled that she had allowed Guerrero to have any part in the interrogation at all. She had no doubt that he would get results, but she wished she had given Winston far more explicit instructions as to what was permissible and what was not. Setting employee guidelines for acceptable interrogation techniques was far out of her realm of experience. She had to put her faith in Winston's history with the police force, and trust that he wouldn't allow Guerrero to do anything actually harmful to the unfortunate prisoner.

Years of experience in tedious board meetings allowed Ilsa to sit looking attentive and offer occasional words of encouragement as Colgrove's voice droned on whilst her mind was elsewhere. A discreet glance at the clock told her that Guerrero and Winston had been questioning the deliveryman for at least an hour now, and she wasn't sure how much more her nerves would take. Ames had long since given up on trying to hide her frustration at being stuck in Ilsa's office when all the excitement was clearly going on elsewhere in the building. The intermittent snap of her gum punctuating Colgrove's extended life story was bad enough, but when Ames retrieved a small nail file from her pocket and began filing her thumbnail with an irritating scraping sound, Ilsa finally snapped.

"Please excuse me," Ilsa said with a bright, professional smile. "I think I ought to check on my colleagues."

She bolted from the room before Ames had a chance to protest about being left to baby-sit the client, and Colgrove was too taken aback by her sudden departure to do anything but stare after her, open-mouthed. She felt a mixture of relief and apprehension when she saw Guerrero and Winston had returned to the office, but those feelings soon gave way to annoyance when she realised that Chance and Pen were debriefing them without her. She strode across the room towards them, her heels clicking crisply on the office floor. Chance at least had the decency to look a little sheepish at leaving her out of the loop, but Guerrero actually rolled his eyes at her approach. Winston, as usual, did his best to smooth the situation over but it was going to take a lot more than one of his slightly strained smiles to placate her.

"Mrs Pucci, we were…"

"Yes , Mr Winston, I see that you were briefing Mr Chance and Penny without me," Ilsa said. "Perhaps you would be so good as to inform me as to what information our… unexpected guest revealed about the proposed exchange under questioning."

"He couldn't tell us much more than was in the note," Guerrero said.

"There was a note?" Ilsa asked, her voice rising in pitch in a way that made the men painfully aware that she was really not happy about that piece of information being withheld. Chance and Winston flinched but Ilsa didn't miss the amusement in Guerrero's eyes.

"Yeah," Guerrero said. "Pen is supposed to make the exchange tomorrow night at nine at the marina."

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you about the note Ilsa," Chance said. "I just got a bit distracted by hauling Pen away from the delivery guy."

"Hey!" Pen protested. "Don't blame me for keeping your boss in the dark!"

"I didn't think you needed to see the note, Mrs Pucci," Winston said in a soothing voice that Ilsa found infuriating. "It was all covered in blood. I stupidly assumed that Chance would tell you what it said."

Chance shot Winston a slightly hurt look for making him take the blame, and Winston responded with a slight shrug that seemed to say "Women! What can you do?". Ilsa decided to ignore the silent exchange.

"Where is the deliveryman now?" Ilsa demanded, determined to get control of the situation.

"Don't sweat it, Ilsa," Guerrero said. "He's in the trunk of the Eldo."

"You didn't….!"

"No, no!" Winston said. "He's absolutely fine! Guerrero gave him a sedative and cleaned him up. He even sutured the wounds to his hands."

"Really?" Ilsa didn't even try to hide her surprise. "Is that true, Mr Guerrero?"

Guerrero smiled but didn't reply. Technically Winston hadn't lied to Ilsa. Guerrero had given the man a sedative. Winston had just let Ilsa believe that it had been administered before Guerrero 'tended' the man's wounds rather than when the man had already passed out twice from the pain.

"Well that's most commendable! Perhaps there's hope for you yet," Ilsa said. She wasn't sure she was hearing the full story, but if Winston said the man was fine, that was good enough for her.

"Something about this stinks," Chance said.

"Yeah," agreed Pen. "Why the hell isn't Guerrero dumping bite-sized chunks of bad guy into the harbour right now?"

"Sorry, Pen. That's not how we do things around here," Chance said.

"Any more," Guerrero muttered, sounding slightly wistful.

"What do you mean?" Winston asked Chance, trying to drag the topic of conversation back to the case.

"The time frame is all wrong," Chance explained. "Why wait so long to make the exchange? Why not do it tonight?"

"I thought of that, dude, and with a little persuasion our guest had something to say about that. Santiago is planning a hit on Bala Perdida. The exchange is going to be his alibi."

"Makes sense, I guess," Chance said, frowning. "When Colgrove ran, it messed up Santiago's timetable. The hit is happening tomorrow night so that's when he needs to make the exchange. If he's taking care of business for Bala Perdida when the hit goes down, it makes it less likely to be traced back to him."

"As next in command the whole operation gets handed to him on a plate," Guerrero said. "It's a smart move. He couldn't openly challenge Bala Perdida's authority without a bloodbath, but if he can take him out without implicating himself, he's the natural successor."

"And if the hit goes bad it makes it that much harder to trace back to Santiago." Chance grinned. "I think we've got just what we need to get Colgrove out of this mess."


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's note: Sorry for the delay. Plot bunnies have been a bit uncooperative lately. Thank you for all the readers who have reviewed, followed and/or favourited this fic! You really keep me going!**

* * *

Pen had only backed off because she thought the deliveryman's was about to receive much harsher, and more painful, treatment at the hands of Guerrero, so she hadn't taken the news of his 'humane' treatment very well. The first time she tried to slip out of the office Chance headed her off at the elevator and led her back to the conference room with a polite but vice-like grip on her arm. Winston kept a close eye on her after that, and when Pen tried to sneak down to the garage via the stairs, he was only a couple of steps behind her. He knew exactly where she was going, and had a reasonably good idea what she would do if she got her hands on the man who was currently unconscious in the trunk of Guerrero's car.

Pen heard Winston's heavy footsteps behind her and waited for him to catch up.

"Whatever you have planned, Pen, I suggest you reconsider," he said.

"Really?" Pen snapped back at him. "You think maybe I should take your guest a nice fluffy pillow instead? Maybe give him a nice foot massage and see if he needs anything in the way of light refreshments?"

"What I told Ilsa earlier… It wasn't exactly a lie but it wasn't the whole truth either."

"Guerrero was supposed to interrogate the bastard! He was supposed to fuck him up with some of that medieval shit he does with his tackle box, not dose him up and kiss it all better! How did you think I would feel about that after what they did to Johno?"

Winston couldn't help noticing the catch in Pen's voice when she said Johno's name, and he wondered if there was more to their relationship than Pen had let on. Her face gave nothing away, aside from the fact that she was furious and was looking for someone to blame for the situation she and her crew were in. Brad the deliveryman probably wasn't the person who actually maimed Johno, but he was the closest person involved, so she would take what she could get.

"Pen, Guerrero did sedate that guy, but only after he poured undiluted disinfectant over the guy's hands and stuck his fingers clear through those knife wounds you gave him! And yeah, he stitched up the wounds, but he used a blunt needle and fishing line thick enough to land a god damn marlin!"

Pen narrowed her eyes and gave him a suspicious look. "Guerrero only dosed him after he was done? He was conscious the whole time?"

"He passed out a couple of times," Winston said, "but Guerrero waited for him to come round before he continued."

Pen considered this for a moment. Given the constraints Guerrero had been working under, perhaps he hadn't really let her down.

"I can't be sure he wasn't just messing with the guy," Winston said, "but Guerrero said something about feeling the guy's tendons snap."

Pen seemed to relax slightly and she gave Winston a smile that was chilling and yet slightly sheepish.

"For a while there I forgot that this was Guerrero we were talking about," she said.

* * *

Colgrove was not happy about Chance's plan. Actually he was not happy about a lot of things. Number one on his list had been Ilsa persuading him to sit in the conference room with his brother's murderer, but once he heard Chance's proposal, that easily topped being in the same room as Guerrero.

"You want me to go with the bastard who murdered my brother to see the man who ordered him to do it? Jut how fucking stupid do you think I am?"

Chance couldn't blame the guy for being angry and scared. He was just going to have to find a way to talk him in to going along with the plan. Ilsa's presence seemed to have some calming influence on Colgrove though, and it was only with her assistance that Chance had managed to coax him into the same room as Guerrero. Clearly her reputation as a business woman and philanthropist carried a lot more weight than any assurances a couple of former assassins could offer. Ilsa sat next to Colgrove and lay a reassuring hand on his forearm, but there was little more she could do to help until Chance had explained the plan.

"Santiago has hired an assassin to kill Bala Perdida," Chance explained. "If you are the one who tips him off, you'll get a chance to start again with a clean slate. Bala Perdida will deal with Santiago and you'll get your life back."

"What's to stop Bala Perdida from killing me too?" Colgrove demanded.

"He's pretty old-school when it comes to stuff like this," Guerrero said, ignoring the way Colgrove glared at him with a look of pure hatred. "You save his life and he'll be honour bound to return the favour."

"Besides," Chance said, "if word gets out that he killed the guy who had the balls to risk everything to warn him about an attempt on his life, it wouldn't exactly go down well with the rank and file. He's already got Santiago working against him. He needs to make it clear to the rest of his organisation that loyalty is rewarded. Killing you would undermine that."

"No fucking way!" Colgrove spat. "There is absolutely no fucking way I'm going anywhere with that sick son-of-a-bitch!"

"I'll come with you," Ilsa said.

After a moment of shocked silence Chance spoke through a forced smile. "Ilsa, may I have a word with you, in private?"

"Certainly, Mr Chance," Ilsa said, standing up and following Chance.

When Colgrove saw that he was about to be left alone in the conference room with Guerrero he started to protest, but Guerrero rolled his eyes and got up.

"Seriously dude, if I wanted you dead, I'd have killed you already."

"And how's that supposed to be reassuring?" Colgrove muttered, but Guerrero was already closing the door behind him.

"Ilsa, what the hell do you think you're playing at?" Chance hissed. "There is no way I'm letting you tag along on this mission!"

"'Let me'?" Ilsa repeated the words in a scornful tone that made Chance wince over his poor choice of words. "I don't see how you have any alternative Mr Chance. I am the only person that Mr Colgrove feels he can trust, and given his history with Guerrero, I can't say that I blame him."

"If Colgrove needs someone to hold his hand, Winston can go with him," Chance said.

Guerrero shook his head, "Winston has 'cop' written all over him, dude. There's no way we'd be able to get anywhere near Bala Perdida with Winston tagging along."

"Fine, then I'll go!" Chance said stubbornly.

Again Guerrero shook his head. "You're needed here, bro. It's going to be hard to get Pen to stick to the plan as it is, but she'll listen to you. Winston wouldn't be able to keep her in line."

"He'll manage!"

"Mr Chance, you are satisfied that Guerrero will be able to ensure the client's safety when he takes him to see Bala Perdida, are you not?"

"Yes, but…"

"Then surely you can trust Guerrero to ensure my safety also!"

"This isn't about whether on not I trust Guerrero…"

"Dude, I hate to say this, but I think Ilsa's right. The only way Colgrove is going to be calm enough to go through with the plan is if he has some kind of assurance that he will be safe with me."

Chance glared at him, but he knew Guerrero was right. It didn't mean he had to like it though.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's note: Sorry for the delay folks! The kicking-ass is not far off now, but this chapter is a little heavily on the dialogue.**

* * *

"Is this really going to work?" Pen asked. "How can you be sure that Santiago won't just shoot the hostages when he realises that we haven't given him Colgrove?"

"We have to keep Santiago off-balance," Chance replied. "You have to remember that all of this is just a way for him to distance himself from the hit on Bala Perdida, so we are going to take advantage of that. If he was one hundred percent focused on getting his hands on Colgrove, we'd be in trouble, but he will be distracted by the fact that the hit is supposed to happen at the same as the exchange goes down."

"You're right, I guess," Pen said with a sigh. The look on her face spoke volumes about how she felt about her crew and her boat being used as nothing more than a distraction in a renegade gangster's master plan. It hadn't gone unnoticed by Chance that she had stopped referring to the members of her crew by name, and he knew that this was her attempt to put aside her personal feelings and focus on the job in hand.

"How come we know about the hit anyway?" Ames asked. "It seems kinda stupid for Santiago to send … you know… the 'package' over with one of his own men. Why would he send a guy that knew he was trying to off his boss? It seems kinda risky."

"I don't think he knew our pal Brad had that information," Winston explained. "Guerrero said that he didn't have the tattoos that would mark him as a full gang member."

"So?" Ames asked.

"It sounds like Brad had yet to become an official part of the crew," Chance explained. "Think of him as more like a pledge who needs to show his commitment to the fraternity before they let him in. Maybe getting him to deliver the package was a kind of initiation. Santiago knows Guerrero is a part of this team and his reputation is well known. Walking in here would be a real test of courage."

"We just got lucky that Brad is the inquisitive type," Winston said. "He overheard enough from Santiago and his men to put together what they are really up to."

"This is beginning to sound a bit vague," Pen frowned. "Do we really know for certain that Santiago is going to have Bela Perdida killed."

Chance nodded. "Guerrero has verified it."

"How?" asked Ames.

Even Pen laughed when Ames asked her question. "This is Guerrero we're talking about. Finding out this kind of intel is what he does!"

"I wouldn't be surprised if he had a hotline to Satan himself," Winston muttered.

"There's only a handful of people who could actually pull of a hit on a guy like Bala Perdida and even fewer people who'd be willing to take the job." Chance explained. "Guerrero's working off a pretty small short-list to begin with."

"Okay!" Ames huffed. "I was only asking!"

"Guerrero can handle the assassin, but what about my crew? And the Indie?"

"We've got it covered Pen," Chance said. "Don't sweat it."

"I just wish we had a bit more intel on Santiago's set up," Winston frowned. "Brad told us that there are three of his crew on the Indie with Johno and Sam but Santiago himself is going to turn up from God-know-where with God-knows how many more men!"

"I'll admit that I'd be a lot happier about the situation if we could neutralise those men aboard the Indie ahead of time," Chance said, scratching thoughtfully at the back of his neck. "It would also be preferable to get an earwig on board so we could tell Pen's men what was going on."

"I can do that!" Ames said.

"Er, thanks for the offer Ames," Chance said, "but this isn't the kind of thing you can achieve with a short skirt and a winning smile. Aside from the small problem of how we'd get you aboard the boat ahead of time, how exactly were you planning to deal with three heavily armed men?"

"Actually, getting her on board wouldn't be that hard," Pen said thoughtfully.

"How come?" Winston asked.

"The exchange is supposed to go down at 9pm, right? Well you can't just tie up at the marina anytime you feel like it. There are hundreds of berths and if everyone just came and went as they pleased it would be chaos. Also there are loads of footbridges that are raised and lowered at set times to allow people to get to specific areas. When you factor all that in, plus having to deal with the harbour master (and trust me even bribing him takes time!) for the Indie to be in position at 9pm they'll have to get to the entrance of the marina at least half an hour beforehand. In the time it takes to get them through the marina itself, there will be plenty of opportunity for Ames to sneak on board!"

"There's still the question of how Ames would deal with three heavily armed goons though," Winston said doubtfully.

"Oh, please!" Ames snorted. "You think I've been working with Guerrero all this time and I haven't picked up at least a few tricks?"

Winston and Chance exchanged a doubtful look.

"Let her do it," Pen said. "I think she can handle it. She's got skills. Maybe not roundhouse-kicking, punch-their-teeth-through-the-back-of-the-bad-guy's-head kind of skills, but I think she can pull this off."

"Look, I don't have to actually beat the bad guys up, do I?" Ames said, her eyes shining with pride at Pen's public vote of confidence. "I just have to make sure they are out of the game by the time nine o'clock rolls round. There are plenty of ways I can do that!"

"You used to be a thief, right?" Pen asked.

"One of the best!" Ames beamed. "I switched out a ring on Ilsa's hand right in front of Chance the first time we met and he didn't even notice!"

Pen turned to Chance, "So why couldn't she use those skills on Santiago's men? They are only a threat if their guns are actually loaded!"

Chance gave Ames a thoughtful look. "That might actually work."

"You can't seriously be considering this!" Winston said. "What's to stop them just shooting her on sight?"

"Uh, the fact that their guns won't be loaded any more!" Ames said rolling her eyes.

"I meant them shooting you before you got to do your pick pocketing thing, genius!"

Pen shook her head. "They couldn't really do that without drawing undue attention to themselves and risk missing the exchange. The marina is still pretty busy even at that time of night."

"That's part of the reason Santiago chose to make the exchange at the marina," Chance said. "Plenty of witnesses to vouch for the fact that he was nowhere near Bala Perdida when the hit went down."

"There's no telling what kind of weapons those men will be carrying," Winston protested.

"Then she'd better start practicing with whatever you've got lying around in your extensive armoury then," Pen shrugged.

* * *

"I'm not sure what I was expecting Mr Guerrero, but it certainly wasn't this!" Ilsa said, passing the binoculars back to Guerrero.

"Bela Pedida is at the top of the food chain, Ilsa, and sharks need bigger tanks," he shrugged.

Bela Perdida's modern glass-fronted mansion did indeed remind Ilsa of an elaborate fish-tank perched on the side of the Hollywood Hills. Ilsa was familiar with the area and she knew the price of real-estate was astronomical. She also knew that a house like that would have exceptionally good security. They were sitting in a diner a couple of miles away from the house waiting for one of Guerrero contacts and Ilsa was beginning to feel quite vulnerable and exposed without the rest of the team there to back them up.

"So what do we do now?" Colgrove asked shifting nervously in his seat.

"Well you can stop trying to hide cutlery up your sleeve for a start. Seriously, dude, what do you think you're going to do with a butter knife anyway?"

"Mr Colgrove! We talked about this!"

"I've still got that crate we used to sneak you aboard the jet, dude. There's no reason why we can't just put you back in your box!"

"I still don't see why if you get me aboard the jet to fly me back to LA, you couldn't just fly me out of the country!"

"Mr Colgrove! May I remind you that we only managed to get you here at a great personal risk to not only Guerrero and myself but my pilot too! And whilst it is _comparatively _easy to slip you by security on an internal flight (and yes, you have Guerrero to thank for making that possible too) the security protocols on an international flight make smuggling you out of the country totally out of the question!"

"And where exactly would you go, dude?"

"Fine! But why are we just sitting here doing nothing?" Colgrove demanded.

"We're waiting for our ride, dude," Guerrero said, slipping out of the booth. "And it looks like he's here."


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's note: In my eagerness to give Ames something useful to do, I sort of wrote myself into a corner. Please see the additional author's note at the end of the chapter.**

* * *

"You're kidding right?" Colgrove said when Guerrero told him to get into the back of the laundry service van. "Isn't this just an 80's movie cliché?"

Guerrero gave him an impatient look over the top of his glasses. "You don't mess with the classics, dude. Get your ass in the van."

Once the three of them were in the back of the van, and the driver had carefully rearranged the bales of fresh sheets and the sacks of dirty laundry to conceal them, he slammed the door shut. It was dark, hot and airless in the back of the van and Ilsa yet again found herself wondering if there wasn't an easier way to get inside Bala Perdida's residence without alerting Santiago's assassin to their presence. Although, she had to admit that it was unlikely that Guerrero would have been able to walk through the front door with the sniper rifle he insisted on bring with him.

Ilsa fought the rising waves of claustrophobia as the van made its way to the mansion in the hills. Finally the van lurched to a halt as they seemed to have reached some kind of checkpoint. Ilsa's heart was racing as she reminded herself that Guerrero had warned them that the van would be stopped, and a cursory check of its contents would be performed, but that the driver would handle it. All they had to do was hold still and keep quiet. The doors at the back of the van swung open and she held her breath and prayed that Colgrove didn't panic and reveal their hiding places. Ilsa could hear the muffled sound of voices and what sounded like laughter, but she couldn't make out what was said, or even how many people there were. After a couple of agonising minutes the doors slammed shut, the engine leapt back to life and the van pulled away.

They were in.

* * *

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Winston asked.

"Yes! I'm sure!" Ames snapped. She knew Winston was only trying to give her one last chance to back out, but this was the fifth time in the last hour he'd asked.

"Quit asking her that!" Pen siad. "Are you trying to psyche her out?"

"He's not psyching me out!" Ames said. "I'm just sick of answering the same question over and over!"

"I think at this point you have to accept it's too late to talk her out of this, Winston," Chance said.

They were parked up at the marina in the surveillance van, and the exchange was now only an hour away. Winston grunted, obviously still unconvinced at the wisdom of sending in Ames to tackle the men on the Indie alone. He produced the box containing the team's earwigs and handed them out to Chance, Ames and Pen before giving Ames the box containing the extra one she was supposed to pass to Johno or Sam.

"Are you sure you're clear on how you're going to disable the guns?" Chance asked.

"You're as bad as Winston! Yes, I know what to do!" Ames said, rolling her eyes.

"Humour me," Chance said. "What are your options?"

Ames gave Chance an exasperated look and recited her answer in a bored tone.

"The three main ways to disable a firearm are: number one, remove the ammunition; number two, remove the firing pin; number three, make the gun jam."

"Don't you think the bad guys are going to notice the difference in weight if you remove their ammo? And how the hell do you think you are going to find the time or opportunity to remove the god-damn firing pins?" Winston demanded.

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that!" Ames replied, her expression wide-eyed and vacant looking.

"Stop messing with him, Ames!" Pen said, laughing. "Show him what I gave you!"

Ames grinned and held out her hand.

"What are those?" Chance asked, taking one of the bullets from Ames' hand and examining it. "Blanks?"

Pen shook her head. "Nope. Something better. Ames is going for option number three: jamming the guns. Johno made them. I'm not sure how they work exactly but Johno calls them Marley rounds."

"Marley rounds?" Winston asked.

Ames laughed, "You know, as in Bob Marley? Because they're always jamming!"

"These are some prototypes I was planning on showing Guerrero before things went pear-shaped," Pen explained.

"Are they safe?" Winston demanded. "Have you even tested them?"

Pen shrugged. "Johno has. Using one of these will fuck up any handgun you stick it in but there's minimal risk to bystanders, or even the person pulling the trigger. All Ames has to do is make sure one of these is slipped in the chamber instead of a live round. Problem solved."

Chance grinned and handed the Marley round back to Ames.

"If you had these all along, why didn't you tell us?" Winston growled.

"Blame Ames," Pen grinned. "She thought it would be more fun to make you sweat!"

Winston looked about ready to explode.

"It's nearly dark," Chance said, before Winston had time to launch into an angry rant about what Ames was doing to his blood pressure. "You two had better get moving if Pen is going to make back here for the exchange in time."

Ames and Pen climbed out of the van and left Chance to deal with a still fuming Winston.

"Did you know about this?" Winston asked.

"No, but I guessed Pen had something up her sleeve. She wouldn't have backed the idea if she hadn't."

Winston's cell phone rang, effectively preventing him from giving Chance a piece of his mind. He picked it up and when he saw Guerrero name flashing on the screen he jabbed it angrily with his finger to answer the call.

"What?" he barked into the handset.

"We're in," Guerrero said, ignoring Winston's bad tempered tone. "You got eyes on them yet?"

"No sign of Santiago yet," Winston replied. He was till too annoyed to even notice the strangely muffled quality in Guerrero's voice. "Pen and Ames are on their way to intercept the Indie. Hey, did you know about the Marley rounds?"

"Of course, dude."

Guerrero hung up before Winston had a chance to say anything else, so he just glared at the cell phone. Chance laughed and Winston held up one cautioning finger.

"Just don't even…" he spluttered. "Just don't!"

Chance made a zipping motion across his lips and tried to stop laughing.

* * *

When the doors of the laundry van opened again Guerrero shoved his way out from underneath the laundry and helped Ilsa climb out. He made no such effort to assist Colgrove, and Ilsa wondered if he was still baring a grudge against their client for trying to stab him back on Pen's boat. Colgrove managed to wriggle his way out of the van and landed in a heap at Ilsa's feet. She helped him up but any sympathy she may have had for him soon evaporated when he looked up, took in their surroundings and pushed her in front of him as if he were using her as a human shield.

Ilsa wasn't surprised to find that the van was parked in a spacious garage away from prying eys, but she was alarmed by the presence of a muscular man in his thirties. He was well-dressed but visibly armed with a walkie-talkie in his hand. She tried to take comfort from the fact that he wasn't making a move to draw his gun from the shoulder holster that he wore over his Armani shirt, and also that Guerrero's confident attitude led her to believe that he had been expecting to see him. She held her head up and looked him squarely in the eye as she tried to ignore Colgrove cowering behind her.

"All clear," the man barked into his radio. "Driver is bringing up the linen now."

"Mrs P, this is Miguel's brother Eduardo. He's also his head of security."

Eduardo gave a polite nod, which Ilsa returned, secretly relieved that she didn't have to shake his hand. She was used to putting on a brave front and rubbing shoulders with people from all works of life, due to her work with the Marshall Pucci Foundation, but she wanted as little as possible to do with Bala Perdida or his men. Ilsa wondered if that was why Guerrero chose not to use her full name. The last thing she needed was to be held to ransom by a drug kingpin!

"We need to get to the roof," Guerrero said.

Eduardo nodded but looked a bit uncomfortable with the idea. "I'm not convinced that this is the best course of action, Guerrero. If you are right about the planned attempt on my brother's life, your plan still leaves him at considerable risk."

"It's your job to keep him safe, dude, not mine," Guerrero said. "But if you want to find out who in your organisation ordered the hit, you're going to have to do this my way."

"It seems that I have no choice in the matter," he said. Ilsa's heart skipped a beat when he reached for his pocket, but he was simply retrieving a smart phone, not a weapon. "Here. It's tapped in to the security feed of Miguel's office, as you requested."

Guerrero glanced at the phone before handing it to Ilsa. She looked down and saw the image of a spacious, stylishly furnished office. The angle of the camera gave an excellent view of the desk although there wasn't anyone currently seated at it.

"Let's go," Guerrero said.

* * *

**Additional note: I know absolutely nothing about handguns and therefore have no idea how Ames would sabotage the bad guys weapons in a quick, efficient way without them noticing. So I cheated. I don't know if there is such a thing as a "Marley round" in existence, or if it's even possible to make such a thing, but it keeps the plot moving and gets the job done. My sincere apologies to anyone with enough firearms expertise to find my shameless use of artistic licence to bullshit my way out of this actually insulting! I promise to do more homework in future :(**


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's note: I haven't forgotten about Pen and the Indie! It's just that the plot bunnies have been doing their own thing. What can you do?**

* * *

_Chance was wrong_, Ames thought, _you should never underestimate the power of a short skirt and a winning smile!_

Pen had guided her to the best position to greet all the incoming boats, and Ames was watching the progress of the Indie as it slowly made its way through the marina. She was wearing an incredibly short skirt and a tank top that left a bare strip of flesh across her midriff. It was chilly, as the wind swept straight off the ocean, but her skimpy outfit was all part of the plan. She pulled her pashmina a little tighter around her shoulders, and fished a handful of fliers out of the oversize beach bag that hung from her shoulder.

"Hi there!" Ames beamed, as another boat full of tourists passed her slowly. "I see you guys have been having fun! Why not keep the party going at Bar Evissa? It's two-for-one on cocktails with this flier and we have a great DJ in tonight for you guys!"

Ames' sales patter met with mixed responses. Sometimes the crew would shoo her away from the boat with threats of reporting her to the harbour master, but other boats, usually those with young male passengers on board, greeted her with whoops and catcalls and grabbed at the fliers and yelled at her to climb aboard. Ames only made that mistake once, when the Indie was still a way off, thinking that if she hopped on and off a few other boats first, it wouldn't seem as conspicuous when she climbed aboard the Indie. Big mistake. The passengers on board were all men in their early twenties and the smell of stale beer hit her just a second too late. They were all very taken with her skimpy outfit, and she had had to endure several minutes of fighting off wandering hands before she'd managed to squirm free and jump back onto the walkway.

Undeterred, she launched back into her sales pitch for the benefit of the next boat, ignoring the taunts being shouted at her by the passengers of the boat she'd just escaped. As jumping on and off the boats wasn't really a viable option, she'd have to modify her plan slightly to get on board the Indie. Until then she just continued grinning and handing out fliers.

Ames was beginning to worry that her fingers were so cold that she'd have trouble lifting the guns and slipping the Marley rounds in, but eventually the Indie drew level with her.

"Hi there!" Ames called with renewed enthusiasm, leaning a little too far to hand the flier to the men watching her with interest from what she thought of as "the pointy end" of the boat. She 'tripped' over the railing along the side of the Indie and the men had no choice but to catch her as she fell towards them in a flurry of leaflets, beach bag and pashmina. She lifted the first guy's gun as she crashed into him, letting the wind catch her pashmina so that neither man could see her hands as she swapped out a live round for a Marley one. She replaced the gun as the men helped her to her feet.

"Are you okay miss?" The other man asked. He seemed to think Ames' ass was an appropriate place to support her with his hand.

"Oh my god! I am such a klutz!" Ames said, trying to ignore the way the guy's hand was making her flesh creep. She tried to stand on her own but squealed and grabbed hold of him, feigning a twisted ankle. "Ow! My ankle!" Using the oversized beach bag to shield her hands from both the men, she leaned heavily on her second target and managed to swap out the bullet in his gun too.

_Two down, one to go._

"What's going on?" the third man called, leaning out from the wheelhouse. "Get her off the damn boat!"

Ames decided that now was probably the time to start crying. "I'm going to get fired, I know it!" she wailed. "I've dropped all my fliers and now I can't even stand up! I've been freezing my ass off in this stupid marina for hours and it's all for nothing! I need this job and now they're probably not even going to pay me!"

Ames knew that most men tended to go to pieces at the sight of a woman crying, and she was relieved to find that Santiago's men were no exception. The added pressure of trying to keep a low profile whilst they had two hostages on board a stolen boat definitely worked in her favour too.

"She can't walk! She's busted her ankle!" the man Ames was clinging to called out.

The man in the wheelhouse swore as he realised that Ames' heart-breaking sobs were beginning to attract attention.

"Okay," he called out, with a distinctly insincere smile. "Bring her in here out of the cold. We'd better take care of our little stow-away."

The two men lifted Ames up and carried her inside the wheelhouse, and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling at her plan working so smoothly.

Getting her hands on the third man's gun was going to be a lot harder though. Santiago's men dumped her in a seat behind what she assumed was some kind of navigation console, and the third man, who Ames took to be the guy in charge, was steering the boat through the marina from another console about five feet away. His gun wasn't holstered like the other guys' weapons were; it sat in front of him is plain sight on top of the console itself. Ames' heart sank as she realised that it was highly unlikely that she would be able to complete this part of her mission. Still, she had to try, and with a bit of luck if they caught her doing something suspicious she would be taken bellow deck to be held hostage with Pen's crew, and she would at least be able to slip one of them the spare earpiece.

The Indie was making steady progress through the maze of the marina and Ames guessed that they were maybe five or ten minutes away from the rendez-vous. It was now or never.

Ames got unsteadily to her feet, taking care to preserve the illusion of a twisted ankle, and lurched towards the man steering the Indie.

"Oh my god, you have like totally saved my life!" she gushed, throwing her arms around him. She was still carrying her over-size bag, and used it to knock the man's gun to the floor. "Ooops! Did I drop something?"

"Get the fuck off me!" the man snarled, shoving her away.

Ames had hoped to be able to pick up the gun from the floor and make the switch in the process, but the man was too fast for her and grabbed her wrist as she reached for it.

"Huh! Why am I not surprised?" the man grunted. Ames tried to get back into character as the air-head bar promoter, crying and apologising, but Santiago's man just hit her across the face with a back-handed blow that sent her crashing to the floor. He looked around warily, checking to see whether anyone had seen him hit her, but the concerned citizens who had taken such an interest in the girl sobbing over the loss of her fliers had since moved on. Satisfied that he was in the clear, he called his colleagues into the wheelhouse and gave them instructions to take the girl below deck and tie her up, out of the way.

* * *

"I still don't quite understand your plan, Guerrero," Ilsa said. "I thought we came here to warn Bala Perdida."

"He needs to know that the threat is real," Guerrero explained, adjusting the sight on his sniper rifle. "If he doesn't believe that his life is in danger, he won't be willing to accept that one of his men is plotting against him."

"So you're going to let the assassin take a shot at him?"

"Yes. As along as Eduardo does his job, Bala Perdida should be fine."

"But…"

"Bala Pedida is a creature of habit," Guerrero interrupted impatiently. "He is usually in his office at this time of the evening. The easiest way to get a target into position for this type of hit is with a phone call. At nine pm the phone on his desk will ring and the sniper will have him exactly where he wants him. We have the advantage of knowing exactly when the hit is supposed to take place, so it's Eduardo's job to let him answer the phone and get him to hit the deck before the shot is fired."

"That sound awfully risky, Guerrero!" Ilsa said. Colgrove didn't look much happier about it either.

"It can't be helped. As long as Eduardo is as loyal as my intel says he is, it should be fine."

"Why don't you just shoot the sniper first?" Colgrove asked. "I mean, that's what you've got your gun for, right?"

"I won't know where he is until he takes the shot. My job is to make sure he doesn't fire a second time."

"He's just walked into his office with Eduardo!" Ilsa said.

"Good. Now shut up."

Ilsa and Colgrove watched the tiny figures on the smart phone's screen, and sure enough, at nine pm precisely the phone rang and Bala Perdida went to answer it.

Ilsa held her breath as he picked up the handset and brought it up to put it against his ear. Eduardo's timing was perfect, he launched himself at Bala Perdida just as the phone reached his ear, knocking them both to the floor behind the desk. Almost simultaneously, the wall behind where Bala Perdida had been standing a split second before exploded in a shower of dust and plaster.

"Gotcha," Guerrero muttered, before squeezing off a shot. He watched his target through the scope for a moment, until he was apparently satisfied that he had hit the mark.

"How did you know…?" Ilsa started to ask.

"Muzzle flash," Guerrero replied. He got out his cellphone and placed a call. "Hey dude. That was a warning shot. Call it a professional courtesy, from one pro to another. You try and take another shot though, and you won't ever need to wear a hat again. If you want to make things right with Bala Perdida, I suggest you confirm the hit with your client and meet me at Tony's in two hours."

Ilsa caught the muffled sound of someone cursing on the other end of the line before Guerrero hung up.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's note: I know I've taken my time in finishing this one, but the end is in sight!**

* * *

Ames let her body go completely limp as they carried her down the steep stairs that led bellow deck. They took her bag, as she thought they would, but they didn't bother searching her before tying her up. They must have assumed that her skimpy outfit wasn't substantial enough to hide a weapon, so they missed the bullets she'd taken from their guns and the last Marley round. The spare earpiece was safely tucked out of sight too, in the lining of her bra.

She moaned and squirmed a little as they tied her up, taking care to angle her wrists to ensure a little extra slack in the rope in the way Pen had taught her during her lesson on the roof. She quickly decided that the moaning perhaps wasn't such a great idea, as one of the men stuffed a filthy rag in her mouth to keep her quiet.

Ames was relieved to find that she'd timed things almost perfectly. The creepy guy who'd grabbed her ass when she had faked twisting her ankle only had time to give her a lecherous look before his companion dragged him back up on deck. If she'd have stepped onto the Indie any earlier, he might have had time to do more than just give her a pervy look. She shuddered at the thought before looking around to take in her surroundings.

They'd tied her up and dumped her in what must be the engine room, but there was no sign of Pen's crew. It didn't take her long to work her wrists free from the rope binding them, and after she had removed the disgusting rag from her mouth, she soon had her legs free too. She decided to head towards the back of the boat, as she knew the stairs at the front led straight back to the wheelhouse, and when she reached a doorway that led to the crew's sleeping area, she knew she'd made the right choice. Two of the beds were occupied by men she took to be Pen's crew.

The men were bound at the wrists and ankles, much the same way she had been, but with the addition of handcuffs chaining them to the footholds sticking out from the wall that served as a ladder to climb onto the top bunk. Ames could tell which one was Johno right away. His left hand was wrapped in a blood-soaked towel and his skin had a grey pallor that spoke of recent blood loss. The man on the top bunk didn't look much brighter either. One eye was swollen shut and the rest of his face was covered in bruises and abrasions. Despite his wan appearance and obvious injury, Johno definitely seemed the more alert of the two men, so she decided to give the spare earpiece to him.

She knelt down beside the bunk and began working the knots free. She decided to leave his gag in place until she'd had a chance to explain the situation.

"Pen sent me…" she said.

* * *

Winston's suspicions about the nature of Pen's relationship with Johno were confirmed as soon as they heard his voice over the comms link.

"_Hey skipper. You took your own sweet time…"_

Pen's face lit up with a broad grin as she let out an excited whoop, and punched the air so hard that the surveillance van rocked. "You're lucky I came for you at all, you moron!"

"_Yeah, well you can spank me later, hon. First we have to get these shit-for-brains fuck-tards off of your bloody tub!"_

Chance smiled at Pen's exuberant response, but Winston was more concerned about being able to keep a low profile in a van that was bouncing around like a newlywed's mattress. He started to tell Pen to keep it down, but Chance put a restraining hand on his arm. "Just let her have this."

Pen soon settled down on her own, once the initial relief subsided and she remembered that they still had a job to do.

"Ames, did you swap the Marley rounds in?" Winston asked.

"_I could only get to two of the guns," _Ames said. _"I'm sorry but the guy steering the boat still has live rounds."_

Winston grunted and shook his head, obviously unsurprised that Ames had failed to complete the task.

"Don't worry kiddo," Pen said. "You did great." She gave Chance a meaningful nudge.

"Taking two of them out of commission is still good," Chance said. "That will definitely work to our advantage."

Pen nodded, satisfied that Chance had taken the hint and given Ames some words of praise, even if they were a bit wooden.

"Just stay out of sight," Chance said, "and don't move unless you hear from me, okay?"

"_Okay."_

"Heads up! I've got eyes on Santiago!" Winston said. "Looks like he's brought some muscle with him. Two goons, plus the driver. I think it's safe to assume they're all packing. Looks like the driver is staying with the car."

"And they're tying off the Indie now. Or at least trying to. Fucking amateurs," Pen muttered, watching on one of the monitors as the men fumbled with the rope, trying to loop it round a mooring.

"Good, then everything is going according to schedule," Chance said, checking his gun and tucking it out of sight beneath his leather jacket.

Winston groaned. "You just had to say it, didn't you? You know that's a sure-fire guarantee that something's going to go wrong now…"

"Oh, grow a pair Winnie," Pen grinned. "This is the fun part!"

"You definitely spent your formative years in the company of the wrong people, Pen," Winston said, shaking his head.

Pen jumped out of the back of the van and cut across the parking lot towards the marina. Guerrero's Eldo was parked up in a distant corner, by the dumpsters at the back of a bar that faced the edge of the marina. Chance had managed to get Guerrero's reluctant permission to use his car, arguing that it was less likely to arouse suspicion than any of the other vehicles at their disposal. Pen got the impression that there had been some kind of deal struck between them to secure Guerrero's permission. He was unlikely to let them use it without there being some kind of strings attached, and whatever he'd managed to get Chance to agree to, Chance really wasn't happy about it.

"We all set?" Pen asked, as she rounded the corner of the storage building at the edge of the marina, her stomach doing back flips as she caught sight of the Indigo Bell.

"_I'm in position," _Chance said, sounding a little out of breath. Pen knew better than to turn around and check that he was really behind her, hiding in the shadows beside the ticket booth of a sightseeing cruise company. If Chance said he was in position, she knew he would be.

"_Yeah, I'm ready," _Winston said. _"And may I just take this opportunity to say I still don't see why I couldn't hide in the bar!"_

Chance laughed. _"It's the shotgun, Winston. I think the customers might just notice it."_

Pen tuned out Winston's grumbled response and tried to focus on the job in hand. The note had said to be at the marina at nine so, lacking any more specific directions, Pen headed straight for the Indigo Bell. She was about twenty feet away when she felt a gun pressed against her back. She didn't bother turning to look at who was holding a gun to her. Two men stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the Indie. Pen gave a humourless little grunt of a laugh at the fact that they thought she was stupid enough just to climb aboard the Indie when three of his men were clearly still aboard, watching her from the wheelhouse.

"So you would be the Miss Penelope Redfield I've been hearing so much about," the shorter of the two men said. He was wearing an expensively tailored suit over a pale grey t-shirt. It was a look that Pen was familiar with. It was popular with a certain kind of criminal who wanted to advertise their wealth without sacrificing comfort and practicality by wearing a button-down shirt and tie. The other, taller man was aiming for a similar look, but his suit obviously wasn't custom made or specifically tailored to fit his bulky frame, which undermined the effect somewhat.

"It's Captain Redfield to you, Mr Santiago," Pen said to the shorter man. She decided to let the Penelope slide. It wasn't as if she was planning on being on first name terms with the guy anyway.

"Ah, but to be a captain, surely you need a boat," Santiago replied.

"The sooner you quit yapping, the sooner you get Colgrove and I get my boat back," she said.

"Ah, I had been warned about your… candour ," Santiago said in a tone that left no doubt as to how distasteful he found her attitude. "I trust that you came alone?"

"I'm alone. Are my crew alive?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid you'll have to take my word on that," Santiago said with a greasy smile that made Pen's hands itch to hit him. "You see, they aren't exactly what I'd call presentable at the moment. Their appearance might be cause for concern amongst the good patrons of the marina. I'm sure you understand."

"So you want me to hand Colgrove over without any proof of life?"

"_Why is she pushing this, Chance? I've untied Johno and Sam! If they come down here to check…"_

"_Don't worry, Ames," _Chance replied. _"Pen knows what she'd doing. Just sit tight."_

"Consider the lives of your crew as a bonus. We both know your main concern is the safe return of the Indigo Bell, and as you can see, I am definitely in possession of that! If you give me Colgrove, the boat is yours, along with the crew. But if you keep me waiting, your crew will be killed. If you are not here alone, your crew will be killed. If I even get the slightest hint of you trying anything stupid, your crew will be killed. If you fail to deliver Colgrove, not only will I kill your crew, I will return the Indigo Bell to you in pieces no larger than matchsticks, is that clear?"

"Crystal," Pen said. "Now if you want Colgrove, I suggest you get the help to quit poking me withhis gun and put it away before I holster it for him, somewhere permanent and uncomfortable."

Santiago nodded to the man standing behind Pen, who discreetly holstered his weapon.

"Follow me," Pen said, leading them into the bar.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's note: El Guerrero translates as "the warrior" or "the soldier". The implication of the way Bela Perdida addresses Guerrero here is that El Guerrero was originally a kind of nickname that at some point Guerrero chose to use as his name.**

* * *

Eduardo escorted Guerrero, Ilsa and Colgrove from the roof to Bala Perdida's office, and given how jumpy his men were in the aftermath of an attempted assassination, Ilsa was relieved to have him there to vouch for them. Bala Perdida had his back to them as they walked in, so Eduardo discreetly cleared his throat and he turned to greet them.

"El Guerrero! Eduardo tells me I have you to thank for saving my life this evening. I consider myself very fortunate. If it had been your services my enemies had employed, I have no doubt that I would not have survived the evening."

Guerrero nodded, acknowledging the compliment. "Actually I just go by the name Guerrero. You can drop the 'El' part."

"Ah, but we all know that you are _the _Guerrero, the one and only! But as you wish. I am in your debt."

"I'm not really the person you need to thank, Miguel," Guerrero said, apparently at ease enough with Bala Perdida to use his Christian name. "My client is the one who told me one of your men had taken out a contract on your life."

"And who is this client?" he asked.

"Ed Colgrove. His father was one of your importers until he was jailed a few years ago," Guerrero explained. "Ed took over the business. When he decided he wanted out, one of your men went after him. Colgrove approached my associates for protection, and when I realised the value of the information he had, we came here to strike a deal."

Bala Perdida looked pensive for a moment. "Colgrove. I remember this name. Was it not to dispose of a man by the name of Colgrove that Joubert loaned you to me, some years ago?"

"That was my brother, Greg," Colgrove said stepping forward. Ilsa held her breath, hoping that he wouldn't do anything stupid.

"So you dare come here, in the company of El Guerrero, the very man who executed your brother's death sentence, to bargain for your life?" Bala Pedida asked. "You are either very courageous or you are a fool. I have not yet decided which."

"I believe Mr Colgrove is most definitely the later," Ilsa said, before Colgrove had a chance to speak. "And if you wish to know who is behind the plot to kill you, it would serve you well to remember that he came here to save your life."

"And who might you be?" he asked, giving Ilsa a long, appreciative look.

"This is Mrs Ilsa Pucci. My employer," Guerrero said with only a slight tightening of his expression that only those who knew him well would be able to interpret as discomfort.

Bala Perdida raised his eyebrows in surprise. He obviously recognised her name. "What exalted company you keep, Mr Colgrove. I think perhaps you are not a fool at all. So, enlighten me. Who is responsible for the attempt on my life this evening?"

"Santiago," Guerrero said.

Bala Perdida's expression darkened. "That is a serious accusation, Guerrero."

"Which is why I personally verified it."

Bala Perdida let out a deep sigh. "I am not overly surprised," he said. "Santiago is a man of ambition. Very well, Colgrove, I acknowledge I am in your debt. You are free to do as you wish with your business. If you continue to work for me, you will be well rewarded financially, but if you chose to walk away, you have my personal guarantee that you will do so safely and without repercussions. Santiago will not be so fortunate."

"About that. I have a suggestion for you," Guerrero said, taking him aside.

* * *

As soon as they stepped inside the entrance to the bar, Santiago's men gave Pen a thorough pat down, checking for weapons. Pen grit her teeth and let them get on with it. Santiago's cell bleeped with a text message alert, and when he read it he smiled with a look of satisfaction for a moment before assuming a more neutral expression. Once his men had confirmed she was unarmed, Santiago nodded, and they stepped back allowing her to open the inner door that led to the bar itself. The venue was quite busy, but Pen had no trouble elbowing her way through the throng of customers, followed by Santiago and his men, who were a little over-dressed for the nautically themed tourist bar.

She led them to the fire exit at the back and out into the parking lot, where Guerrero's Eldo was parked.

"Well?" Santiago asked.

Pen popped the trunk open to reveal a struggling figure with a coarse fabric bag pulled over his head. Brad the delivery guy was of a similar height and build to Colgrove, so as long as Santiago didn't remove the hood, he was a reasonably convincing double, dressed in Colgrove's clothes.

Unfortunately, the first thing Santiago did was remove the hood.

Santiago shook his head. "You really thought I wouldn't check?"

Pen shrugged. "I'm an optimist."

Santiago nodded to one of his companions, who drew a gun and a silencer. He calmly screwed the silencer into place and shot Brad twice in the chest as Santiago dialled a number on his cell. When the call connected, he looked Pen in the eye and spoke in a flat, slightly bored tone, "Execute the crew and blow the boat."

* * *

After Pen took Santiago and his men into the bar, Chance stepped out of the shadows and tagged on to a group of people who were making their way to a boat decorated with lanterns at a mooring a just past the Indie. From the loud music playing over the boat's PA system, and the way the passengers were dressed, Chance guessed that the boat was scheduled to take them out on a party cruise. The noise and general bustle as the party got going meant that Chance was able to sneak aboard the Indie with relative ease, as the bright lights of the party diminished the men's night vision. He stayed low and found a suitable vantage point to hide where he still got a clear view of the wheelhouse and the men inside.

When Chance saw one of the men on the Indie take a call, he knew it was time to act. As only one of the men was carrying a functioning firearm, and there were still quite a few people milling around the marina, Chance decided that he wouldn't draw his own gun unless absolutely necessary. Fortunately the guy who took the call was the one Ames had pointed out as having the only live ammunition, and he sent the other two men bellow deck to deal with the hostages. Knowing that Santiago's men wouldn't be able to just execute Ames, and Pen's crew with a shot to the head was of some comfort. It would buy him a little time to deal with the man still in the wheelhouse, but he would still have to be quick. The crew weren't likely to be in any shape to fight, and Ames wouldn't stand a chance against Santiago's men.

He crept up alongside the wheelhouse and carefully looked inside. The man inside had put his cell down on the console in front of him. He held another small electrical device in one hand and his gun in the other. There simply wasn't time for Chance to do anything more than say "Hey," getting the man's attention and knocking the gun from his hand as he turned to face him. The man grunted and hit a button on the device in his other hand and threw it at Chance. Chance caught it, and took the guy down with a well-aimed kick to the face as he scrambled for the gun that had landed on the floor of the wheelhouse. He grabbed a handful of the fallen man's hair and hit the guy's head against the floor for good measure, ensuring that he was unconscious before looking at the device in his hand.

"That's not good," he muttered. The device seemed to be a remote detonator and it had a small display counting down to zero. There was only two and a half minute left on the clock, and Chance was certain that being on the Indie when it reached zero was a very bad idea.

* * *

Bile rose in Pen's throat as Santiago calmly ordered the execution of her crew and the destruction of the Indie, but she knew she had to put her faith in Chance. There was no immediate sound of a detonation, which probably meant that there was some kind of delay to allow Santiago's men to leave the boat before it exploded. Whatever was going on, Pen wasn't inclined to stand there and wait for it to happen. The plan was to take back the Indie and to let Santiago escape so that Bala Perdida could deal with him at a later date, but Pen was in no mood to hang back and let Santiago get away. As he hung up and reached beneath his jacket, Pen dropped to the ground and kicked his legs out from under the man who'd just shot the man in the trunk. She drove an elbow into his face, smashing his nose, as she twisted the gun out of his hands and pointed it at Santiago.

Santiago and the other man both drew guns and trained them on Pen. She would have been in serious trouble if Winston hadn't chosen that moment to throw back the lid of the dumpster he'd been hiding in and rise like a slightly soiled avenging angel out of the garbage with a cocked and loaded shotgun in his hands.

"Walk away, Santiago," Winston said with a cold, menacing tone that not even the rancid scraps of garbage clinging to his clothes could undermine. "Walk away now, whilst you still have the legs to carry you."

Santiago looked at the one of his men who was still standing and nodded towards his fallen comrade. He dragged him to his feet and the three of them slowly backed away, keeping their guns trained on Pen.

It took every ounce of self-control she had not to just shoot Santiago in the face, but somehow she managed to hold back, letting Santiago and his men retreat back to where his car was waiting for him. Just before he closed the door behind him, Santiago called out to her.

"If you hurry, Miss Redfield, you may be in time to see the show. I do hope you like matchsticks…"

He slammed the car door shut and the vehicle sped away as Pen emptied the gun at him.

"Chance! There's a bomb on the Indie!" Pen said, tossing the empty gun to the ground and taking the shotgun from Winston so he had both hands free to try and pull himself out of the dumpster.

"_I know. I'm on it."_

* * *

Chance threw himself feet first down the steep stairway down to the engine room below and hit the floor running.

"_Chance! Hurry!" _Ames cried.

As he ran into the sleeping quarters, ducking his head to avoid braining himself on the low doorway, he barrelled into one of Santiago's men, knocking him to the floor. Ames was pressed against the back wall of the cabin, holding a small fire extinguisher like a baseball bat, whilst Johno was trying to cuff the other intruder to the wall. Ames swung her makeshift weapon at the man Chance had just knocked to the floor, knocking him out cold, before helping Johno with the cuffs.

It only took a second for Chance to see what had happened. Ames had been waiting with the fire extinguisher and had let it off in the men's faces, blinding them just long enough to take one of them out. Had their guns been functional, she would have been in serious trouble, but she'd handled the situation like a pro.

"Get off the boat now!" Chance ordered. "It's rigged to blow in less than two minutes!"

"Sam can't walk!" Johno said.

"Then we'll carry him! Move! Now!" Chance said, dragging Sam down from the top bunk.

"Wait!" Ames said. "We can't just give up and let them destroy Pen's boat!"

"Ames, we don't have time for this…"

"Johno, where was the tracker the hidden?" Ames asked.

"In a false panel in the engine room. Why?"

"That's got to be the best hiding place on the boat, right? Only you and Pen knew about it!"

"Ames, there's no time!" Chance said.

"She's right," Johno said. "Get Sam off the boat. We're looking for the bomb."

Conscious that the seconds were ticking away and there was no time to argue with them, Chance gave Ames the remote detonator so at least she'd know how much time they had left, and carried Sam off the boat.

Johno led Ames to the secret panel in the engine room, and when she lifted it away it revealed a tangle of wires connected to enough plastic explosives to take out not only the Indie but easily destroy the vessels moored either side as well.

The clock was running down fast and they only had a minute left to deal with the bomb.

"We should yank out the green wire," Johno said. "That looks to be the one linked to the detonator."

"No!" Ames said, grabbing his wrist as he reached for the wire. "I've seen this setup before! There's a secondary detonator, a failsafe in case anyone disconnects the primary!"

Johno looked doubtfully at the scantily clad woman who had to be the least likely looking explosives expert he'd ever seen. "They teach you that at the beauty parlour?" he asked.

There wasn't time for Ames to take offence at the remark. "Explosives are my thing," she said impatiently.

"_Johno, trust her! She knows what she's doing_!" Chance said over the comms, hoping to God that he was right.

"Pen?" Johno asked.

"_Listen to her! If Chance says she knows what she's doing, she does_!"

The countdown on the detonator had hit the thirty second mark.

"Okay," Johno said, reluctantly accepting his captain's decision. "What do you want to do?"

Ames carefully pushed aside a bundle of wires that had been taped together, revealing a much smaller blue wire underneath.

"We need to do this simultaneously," she explained, carefully taking the thin blue wire between the fingers of one hand and a larger red wire from the bundle in her other hand. "When I say three, yank out that green wire. Got it?"

"When you say three," Johno repeated, taking the green wire between the index finger and thumb of his good hand.

"Okay. One. Two. _Three_!"

The device emitted a short beep and the countdown on the bomb's remote froze, with ten seconds left to spare.

"_Ames?"_

"We got it!" Ames said triumphantly. "The Indie s safe! Give me ten minutes and I'll have the bomb stripped back to its components."

Johno breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Nice one, kiddo."


	17. Epilogue

**Author's note: Well here it is, the final part. Sorry I kept you guys waiting so long! The character of Sam turned out to be a bit of a non-starter. Never mind. Word is that Matt Miller will be pitching the ideas for season 3 to Fox on Thursday so act now to show your support before it's too late! Check out the thread in the Human Target forum for ideas how!**

* * *

Johno had to spend a couple of days in the hospital for observation after emergency surgery to his hand, and had the doctors had a say in the matter, he would have had to stay considerably longer, but Pen was hell-bent on busting him out as soon as possible. The surgeons weren't able to re-attach the part of his hand that Guerrero had put on ice at the office. Santiago's men had cauterised the wound with a blowtorch, more likely to torture Johno than out of any medical reasons, but the doctors told him it may well have prevented him from bleeding to death. Sam's injuries were potentially more life threatening. He was put into a drug induced coma whilst the doctors waited for his condition to stabilise enough to take him into surgery to deal with his internal injuries.

For the few days that Johno was in the hospital, Pen hung around the office. She'd been banned from setting foot in the hospital after she'd punched out the surgeon who'd told her that re-attaching Johno's fingers was an impossibility. Ames was surprised that she didn't head straight back to the Indie, but she didn't dare ask Pen the reason why. She guessed that she was worried about Johno and Sam. The Indie was bound to feel a little weird without them and it made sense for her to wait for news among friends.

Ilsa and Guerrero returned from Los Angeles the day after the events at the marina. Ilsa told the team that Colgrove was now in the clear with Bala Perdida, but she didn't seemed that pleased about it, and when Winston asked how he was going to deal with the news of Santiago's betrayal, she gave Guerrero a cold, disapproving look and said, "Ask him. He won't tell me what he said to Bala Perdida."

"Ilsa, I'll tell you if you really want to know, but I guarantee you won't like the answer," Guerrero said, with a put-upon look.

"Then I think I'm definitely better off not knowing!" Ilsa snapped. She turned her back on him and marched into her office, shutting the door firmly behind her.

"So? What happened?" Chance asked.

"I gave Bala Perdida the whereabouts of a certain sniper who just had a job fall through," Guerrero said. "I told him that he was likely to get a very competitive rate if he wanted to hire him to deal with Santiago."

"You sent Santiago's own assassin after him?" Winston asked.

"That's up to Bala Perdida, dude," Guerrero shrugged.

Chance frowned. "I can see why that would upset Ilsa. I can't say I'm thrilled with the idea either."

"Seriously? The whole 'nobody deserves to die' thing again? What did you think would happen when we let Bala Perdida deal with Santiago? He's not exactly the forgiving type!"

"I guess," Chance said. "I just wish we could have found another way to deal with him. The cops could have got him on attempted murder for shooting Brad."

"Only if Brad had been willing to testify," Winston pointed out. "He was lucky enough to survive two shots to the chest. I doubt he would have been willing to risk pointing the finger at Santiago. Besides, Santiago didn't pull the trigger himself. Even with Brad's testimony, it wouldn't exactly be a slam-dunk case."

"Speaking of Brad, shooting holes in the Eldo was _not_ part of our agreement, Chance!" Guerrero said.

"Yeah, about that agreement…"

"You're not backing out now, dude," Guerrero smirked. "As soon as Johno is out of the hospital, you are going to have to hold up your end of the deal."

"Ames diffused a bomb!" Chance blurted out, in a blatant attempt to change the subject.

Guerrero gave him a pointed look, to let him know that he wasn't off the hook. "I heard. Good call on the secondary detonator, Ames. I didn't think you had that much experience with explosives."

"Thanks!" Ames said, flushed with pride at the rare compliment from Guerrero.

"How did you know to check for it?" he asked.

"Brody taught me some stuff," she said, waving her hands as if she was dismissing it as a small thing. No one was taken in by her false humility. Her mile-wide grin was a dead give-away. "Explosives 101: never just yank out the first wire you see without at least looking the rest of the device over first."

Winston and Guerrero turned to Chance, giving him a meaningful look.

"Hey! I look before I yank!" he protested.

"So you didn't really know what you were doing?" Pen asked, the colour draining from her face as she realised just how close she'd been to losing Johno and the Indie.

"Well… I was pretty sure that if I let Johno pull out that green wire we were toast," Ames said sheepishly.

Guerrero snorted and turned away so Pen wouldn't see him smiling.

* * *

Winston took Ames with him to pick Johno up from the hospital, and Guerrero followed them in the Eldo with Pen and Chance. Pen still wasn't allowed to set foot on hospital property, so Guerrero parked a couple of streets away, and he and Chance waited with her to make sure she didn't get any bright ideas about storming the hospital in search of round two with Johno's surgeon.

When Winston's car pulled up, Pen ran to the passenger side door, wrenched it open and pulled Johno out by his shirt. He barely had the time to say, "Easy, boss!" before Pen threw her arm around his neck, ignoring the sling supporting his injured hand, and all but devoured him with a passionate kiss that Johno enthusiastically reciprocated.

Winston got out and watched them with a satisfied expression. "I knew those two were an item."

When Pen finally let Johno surface for air, he grinned at Winston. "Actually we're not. I mean we weren't." He corrected himself, after Pen gave him a none too gentle jab to the ribs.

"Yeah, well we are now, you fuckwit," she said fondly. "I've had with all the unresolved sexual tension bullshit."

"Oh, we know all about that," Winston said, giving Chance a meaningful look.

Chance ignored him. "Okay, let's head back to the office. I've got a bottle of scotch that needs drinking."

"Not so fast, dude," Guerrero said. "You've got an obligation to fulfil, and tonight's the night."

"You're really going to make me do this?" Chance asked.

"Hell, yes!" Guerrero said. "Winston, you remember the way to Drake's bar?"

"Yeah, but I like the sound of that bottle of scotch a whole lot better," Winston grumbled.

"Trust me. You're not going to want to miss this."

* * *

Chance downed his third shot of vodka and looked around the bar apprehensively. As usual Drake's was full of the kinds of people that any sane person would go out of their way to avoid. Chance moaned when he saw that there was a group of mean looking bikers taking up three tables along one wall.

"Do I at least get to choose?" Chance asked.

"Of course, dude. But it doesn't really matter," Guerrero smirked, following Chance's gaze to the group of bikers, who were growing rowdier by the minute. "They're all pretty much as bad as each other. You might want to hurry it up though. Those guys look about ready for a fight."

Chance's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I hate you, Guerrero."

"Hate you too buddy," Guerrero smiled, as Chance pushed himself away from the bar and began making his way across the bar.

Ames, Pen, Johno and Winston were sat at a table directly in front of Chance as he stepped on to the small makeshift stage at the end of the bar with all the enthusiasm of a man climbing the steps to the gallows. The barmaid handed him a microphone, and he leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Ames and Pen began whooping and cheering, which only served to draw more attention to him. He winced, but the whole bar was likely to be staring at him in a minute anyway.

After a few moments of awkward silence, when it seemed to Chance that everyone in the bar was staring at him with the kind of curiosity that could turn to violence at any time, the opening bars of Billy Joel's 'Up-town Girl' blasted over the bar's PA system. Ames and Pen exploded into laughter as Chance began to sing. Winston face-palmed, before turning to Guerrero at the bar and mouthing, "What the fuck?"

"_Uptown girl. She's been living in an uptown world_…"

Guerrero grinned, safe in the knowledge that Chance would think twice about drunk dialling him and leaving him musical messages again.

"Louder! We can't hear you!" Pen shouted, and was soon joined by Johno and Ames. "Louder! Louder!" Winston just shook his head and laughed.

The other customers in the bar seemed to take Chance's impromptu performance remarkably well, despite Chance's understandable apprehension, and a few of them were actually singing along. Guerrero kept a close eye on the crowd to make sure no one tried to throw anything at Chance, but the overall mood seemed to be one of bewildered amusement. It was obvious that Chance wasn't singing through choice, so most people just sat back and enjoyed his humiliation.

Chance shot Guerrero a look of pure hatred and Guerrero acknowledged it by grinning and raising his glass in a toast. When Chance didn't get any louder, Ames and Pen climbed up beside him and began singing along with him, adding the _woah-woah-woahs _at the appropriate moments. Guerrero shook his head and sighed. The deal was that Chance was supposed to be up there singing on his own, but he let it slide. The look on Chance's face was enough to assure him that his point had been well and truly made.

**THE END!**


End file.
